


Do You Know Your Enemy?

by WhisperedWords12



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bodyswap, Enemies to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Philadelphia Flyers, Pittsburgh Penguins, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-07-14 17:12:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7181954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperedWords12/pseuds/WhisperedWords12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sid chased the puck into the corner, he anticipated the hit. What he didn’t anticipate was how hard it would be. Next thing he knows, he's staring back at his own body and when he looks down, he sees orange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Do You Know Your Enemy?

**Author's Note:**

> Against my original better judgement, which was "for the love of God, just leave this as a one shot", this is likely going to develop into a series of ficlets all posted in this work.

When Sid chased the puck into the corner, he anticipated the hit. What he didn’t anticipate was how _hard_ it would be, propelling him forwards into the boards.

It was early in the third period and the last thing he remembered before the blackout was the horrified look of his fans on the other side of the glass, with Claude Giroux breathing out a sharp “fuck” in his ear as he made contact.

It must have only lasted a second. Sid couldn't remember falling, but was suddenly pushing himself back up, the play still in motion with the puck on his stick. He panicked, spotting Olli whipping around the net and sent him a quick pass.

Olli looked surprised, receiving it cleanly and skating up ice.

Sid looked up, hit by a sudden onslaught of sarcastic cheering and booing from the crowd. _His_ crowd.

He forgot Claude, turning around in confusion. Wayne Simmonds skated past in a blaze, shouting a quick “Get off the ice!” at him.

Sid was too disoriented to feel really pissed. It seemed like the best idea. Maybe he was a little rocked from that hit. Sid skated over to the Pens bench.

He was surprised by the heated looks he was getting. When he reached for the door, Kunitz whacked at his hand. “You lost, bud?”

Sid’s face pinched. Before he could say anything there was a hand on his shoulder, guiding him away from the bench. The whistle was blown and play stopped in their attacking zone. The referees and linesmen where looking over in concern.

“You should go get your head checked.”

Sid jumped. He knew that voice. It was his voice.

Sid whipped around to see himself with an earnest look on his face. His face, _Sid’s_ face, looking back at him. _What the fuck_.

Sid looked down and saw orange. His jersey, his socks. This wasn’t his stick, these weren’t his skates.

Sid gapped but his body was giving him a look that said Sid should be listening, that he should be paying attention. Sid looked around. All of the players on the ice were looking at them, then glancing around at their opponents uneasily, as if anticipating a fight. The boys on both benches were standing.

“This is a joke,” Sid said. He paled, that wasn’t his voice. The boys on the Flyers’ bench started calling out to Pens players, backing Sid. “This is a joke,” Sid said again, more softly now. His body looked just as scared as Sid felt. Maybe they were still connected somehow.

The linesmen were between them now, pushing Sid towards the Flyers’ bench. He was guided down between Simmonds and Voracek. He felt fucking terrified.

Wayne thumped him on the back, “’Atta boy, captain!” He yelled. A couple of the other Flyers hollered in agreement.

Jakub gave him a look, “Kind of stupid trying to get into a fight after a hit like that. What did you say to him?”

Wayne grinned, “Yeah man, he looked good and shook, or was that just from the hit?”

Claude. They thought he was Claude. Sid looked over at his body on the other bench, who was staring right back. It couldn’t be…

His coach thumped him on the back, “You ready to go on?”

“Get your head checked, Giroux!” A voice called. They all looked over to see Sid’s body hanging over the boards. There was an almost distinct French-accent to his voice. Sid felt like he was going to throw up.

“ _You_ get your head checked you brain dead motherfucker!” Wayne called back loyally, standing up to hang over the bench.

Sid tried a smile in his borrowed body, but it felt thin. Sid’s body on the other hand was giving Wayne an almost… fond smile? This wasn’t right.

Wayne sat down heavily, shaking his head. “That idiot has had more concussions than anyone in this league combined, he needs to get _his_ damn head checked. We’ve got a game to win!”

Sid stood suddenly. “I think I do need to get my head checked,” he said, shuffling off towards the tunnel. One of the trainers was already coming over to meet him, a concerned look on his face.

Wayne was giving him a look of disbelief, “You didn’t even get hit! You did the hitting!”

Sid waved him off. He needed to get out of here. “Yes. No. Maybe. Okay.” He took off down the hall.

They were trying to get him to go to the quiet room. Sid argued against it, standing in the middle of the hall. He had to find his body.

He didn’t have to look far. Sid’s body was running comically towards him in skates on the rubber matting. A trainer was looking horrified behind him, jogging to keep up. Sid met them halfway.

Both trainers were trying to pull them apart.

“Fuck off, I’m not going to fight him.” Sid’s body growled. Sid’s trainer looked surprised.

“Easy.” Sid barked at his body. He looked back towards the trainer behind him, “We need a second.”

The trainer looked unsure, but stepped back. Sid’s body was giving Sid’s trainer a pointed look. The man frowned but stepped back as well. Neither went far.

Sid leaned in closer to his body. “Don’t fucking tell me it’s you in there.”

Sid’s body leered at him, “Oh yeah baby, it’s me.” The French-accent was too distinct.

Sid groaned, “Giroux.”

Sid’s body—Giroux—waggled his eyebrows.

Sid closed his eyes, groaning. He opened them, “We have to fix this. Give me my body back.”

Claude snorted, “Like I know how this happened? It’s your fucking arena…”

“Don’t blame my arena” Sid snapped.

Claude gave him a pointed look. It looked so wrong on Sid’s face. “Do you have a better explanation?”

Sid sighed, “Your hit?”

Claude looked thoughtful. “So we have to hit each other more?”

Sid smirked, “I can get on board with that. Easy with my head, though.”

“You be easy with your own head. And treat my body like the temple that it is.”

Sid snorted. He paused. “I’ll give it my all if you do.”

Claude gave him a crooked smile, “Oh, it’s on. Wait till you feel what it’s like to get booed by your own crowd while wearing orange, Sid. You’re going to love it.”

Sid sighed, “We just have to get through this period.”

“G? We gotta go.” Claude’s trainer called.

Sid nodded to him and turned back to Claude. “You need to ditch the accent.”

Claude smiled, “You need to gain one.”

Sid frowned, “I just won’t speak.”

Claude snorted, “Then the boys will know something is wrong. Just don’t…” Claude sighed, “Don’t go overboard there, Captain Canada. I know you got some experience from the Q, but I don’t speak French like some backwoods hick. Your French is atrocious, take it easy.”

Sid couldn’t help but laugh.

They separated, heading back to the bench. The Flyers’ trainer was back to trying to get him into a quiet room, but Sid waved him off. “I’m fine,” he said, trying out an accent. Definitely not as subtle as he’d hoped because the trainer gave him a weird look.

Okay. He could do this.

He rejoined his team—God, no. He rejoined the Flyers, getting a couple thumps on the back as he made his way down the bench. He hadn’t been there more than a couple of seconds when he saw his body go flying past, chasing the puck.

Sid held his breath and watched, ready for Claude to dump it to one of the Flyers’ using his body.

But he didn’t. Claude made a nice pass to Sheary, who took a quick shot on net. Mason made the save. Sid was impressed. This could work.

Suddenly his coach was banging on his shoulder, sending him onto the ice. He felt a little unstable, trying to orient himself. Orange. Think orange.

Claude noticed the instant Sid touched the ice, an almost predatory look lighting up his face. Sid swallowed.

Every chance they got, they were throwing each other into the boards. Sid made sure to be extra careful with Claude’s head in his body.

The hits got harder and harder. Claude was getting frustrated. “This isn’t working. I didn’t hit you this hard the first time.” He growled as he pushed himself up.

Sid was equally unhappy. The Pens players were currently giving him shit for targeting their captain. Claude watched, giving him a pointed look and jerked his chin at the offending players. The facial expression looked ridiculous on his face.

 _What?_ Sid mouthed.

Claude looked increasingly frustrated. _Chirp back!_ he mouthed.

“Keep going for my Captain and I’ll fuck you up,” Letang growled later in French during a TV timeout.

Sid had only understood half of it, picking up on the important parts. Sid hoped that laughing was a good enough response to the situation. In the background, Claude was burying his face in his hands. Sid shook it off, going back to the game.

Sid was thinking about this as a practice. That helped his brain adjust, and he was always competitive in practice. He just wasn’t on the black team today, and that was okay, because it’s be back to normal really soon.

A couple moments later, Sid found himself slipping past the defense thanks to an excellent pass up the ice from Schenn, on a breakaway.

The crowd was booing and going crazy. Sullivan was yelling for his Ds to get back. Sid bore down on Murray, reading his body position, recognizing it. Murray was going to go down, and Sid was going to burry it top shelf. He knew it would go in.

The look of absolutely hate coming from the crowd adorn in Pens jerseys behind the glass is what made him pause, just for a second, confused. What was he doing?

Sid thought of Claude, who was genuinely working to help Sid’s team and the moment of hesitation passed. Except that the moment of hesitation had still been enough of a moment of hesitation to throw Sid off his original plan. It was too late for top shelf now and he was way too close to Murray. He flipped the puck up desperately, trying one last ditch effort to get it in. The puck hit Murray _hard_ on the top of his mask, at just the right angle to send it flying off.

Sid gasped in horror. He was still way too close to Murray. He stopped hard, showering Murray in snow but his momentum with still too strong. He jumped at the last second, flying over the young goaltender. The crowd was on its feet, going crazy with rage. Sid was a little surprised himself, flying into the net, sending it skidding off into the boards.

All of a sudden it was anarchy on the ice.

Letang was on top of him in an instant, wailing on him. Sid tried to get his hands up to block his face, but not before Letang could land a good one. Sid struggled for a couple of moments before Letang was pushed out of the way. New hands where on him, dragging him out of the pile.

Sid caught a glimpse of Claude pulling him out of there, before jumping on Sid himself. Everyone on the ice was fighting except for Murray, who was having a trainer check his head.

Claude was on him, just pinning him against the ice. A linesman had spotted them and was already coming over to break it up. “’bout time,” Claude murmured and they were pinned against each other, effectively stopping any potential fighting.

“That was some stupid shit you just pulled, G.” The linesman yelled.

Sid swallowed, “It was an accident.” He didn’t mean to sound so sincere.

Claude gave him a disgusted look with Sid’s body, “You hesitated.”

Sid groaned.

Another referee came over to help, even though nothing was happening. Claude got hauled off him. “Let it go Sid, he’s getting the penalty. Let it go.” The referee said, directing Claude to the Pens’ bench.

Claude just nodded, shooting Sid a poisonous look. Sid vowed to never make that face again when he returned to his body.

Sid was hauled aggressively to his feet and dragged to the penalty box. He wasn’t exactly sure why, he would have gone easily enough. He was joined by Simmonds and Schultz a moment later, both looking smug.

Wayne thumped him on the back, “Nothing like a good fight against those assholes on a night like this. I almost don’t mind being down, a fight is always good for moral.”

Schultz laughed.

The Pens’ penalty box opened and Letang and Hornqvist were ushered inside. Letang was giving him a murderous look. Sid looked away. Wayne did not, and engaged in a shouting match above his head.

Play resumed, and Murray was thankfully okay. They were playing five-on-four, Sid’s penalty the only one on the board. When he got out, there would only be one more minute left and coach was likely going to pull the goalie, leaving Sid on for a six-on-five for them.

Sure enough, that was exactly what happened.

The Flyers were cycling it through the Pens’ zone. Claude was in his face for most of it, playing point.

Thirty seconds ticking down on the clock and Sid was feeling panicked. They still hadn’t changed back yet.

Schenn passed to Voracek, who passed it back to Schenn. He looked around and sent it back to Voracek who made a no-look pass to Sid, who faked one to Schenn and then slid it to Simmonds, who made a beautiful shot. The horn sounds, light behind the net going red.

Sid threw his hands up in disbelief, the crushing sensation on his teammates piling in around him. Sid congratulated Wayne. His faked French accent probably too overplayed again, but couldn't really find it within himself to care.

They made their way down the bench, giving out high fives before curling back out into center ice to take the face off. Claude was already there, hunched over, ready to take it. Ten seconds on the clock, down by one goal. Claude was giving him a fond look.

The puck dropped and Sid shot forward, snapping the puck back to his team. It was a mad scramble into the zone. The crowd was going absolutely crazy and Wayne managed to squeeze himself and the puck into the zone. Sid shot forwards, pushing Claude’s body as hard as it would go.

Wayne looked over at him and yelled, sending the puck his way. Sid had to reach for it, just catching it on his tape, working it back into a position where it could be shot—

The buzzer went off, green this time. Sid still had the puck on his tape.

He fired it off angrily into the corner, frustrated because he knew he could have been better than that. The Pens were piling in around him, literally pushing past him to go congratulate their goalie.

Sid sighed and let it go, skating over to his bench.

The hit came from out of nowhere. One second Sid was standing, the next he was splayed out on his stomach, looking up in a daze at his body—at Claude—who had taken him completely by surprise with a hard check mid ice.

“Fuck!” Claude yelled, “If that didn’t work, what the fuck are we going to do now?”

Sid was completely rattled.

Suddenly there was two guys on Claude, dragging him off. _He was trying to get us back into our bodies_ , Sid realized, still a little dazed.

He looked up to find complete chaos. The crowd was freaking. Everyone on the ice was fighting someone. The coaches on the bench were yelling at each other. The referees were shaking their heads, taking names and trying to mediate any fights that looked particularly dangerous.

Mason was trying to engage Murray in a fight, standing off to the side and calling over tauntingly at the youth. Sid focused on that, skating over. He put a hand on Mason’s shoulder, “Let the kid be.”

Mason gave him a startled look.

Sid sighed, trying to force the accent back into his voice. He also tried a smirk, “Kid’s skin and bones. Not worth it.”

It hurt to say but seemed to do the trick. Mason huffed and went for a skate.

There was some more commotion off to the side. Sid looked over to see Claude getting hauled off the ice by referees, a fresh, already-blossoming bruise bright on his cheekbone.

Sid’s mood soured. He looked at the mess on the ice and didn’t feel any better. More than one Pens player looked like they wanted a piece of him.

Sid skated over to Simmonds, who was gripping onto a Pen. Sid couldn’t tell who it was, their jersey hiked up over his face, arms pinned awkwardly. He tapped Wayne on the shoulder, “Hey. Let’s wrap this up.”

Wayne looked surprised and mildly insulted, “We’re doing this for you, G. These fucking assholes started this.”

Sid nodded, “And I appreciate it. But let’s not get any of our guys suspended.”

Wayne sighed and dropped the Pen, who landed in a confused heap on the ice. “Alright boys,” he called. “Captain says let’s wrap it up!”

A couple of the Flyers immediately dropped their offending Pen, stepping away from the fight. Sid was happy to see Kunitz on the other side, helping to disengage players as well. Geno was still hacking at people in the corner.

Slowly, they started getting players off the ice and into the dressing room. Fans were throwing stuff onto the ice and still booing. It was a nightmare. They’d have to stay late tonight, until it was at least safe to leave.

It didn’t get better after that. The team got shit for their behavior on the ice. Then Sid got shit for his behavior on the ice, followed by mild praise for breaking everything up in the end. It was weird being yelled at by a coach he didn’t really know, but he knew Claude would be facing the same fate and Sullivan was scary on a good day and tonight way not a “good day”.

Finally they were allowed to shower. Sid respected Claude’s set up, washing it quickly and trying not to look or think about it, looking up at the ceiling and pretending he was still in his own body. He carefully avoided mirrors.

When he got back to his stall, he dressed and prepared to get onto the bus. His phone had one new message from an unknown number. He only checked it because his name was in the message itself.

Unknown 11:32pm  
_Sid. Go with the team. I’ll meet you in my room_

Thankfully the phone was set up with Claude’s fingerprint and opened easily. He fired off a text in reply.

Claude 11:32pm  
_Claude?_

Unknown 11:33pm  
_Yes idiot._

Sid paused, then added the number into the phone.

Claude 11:33pm  
_How did you get this number?_

#1 Hockey Player Sidney Crosby 11:33pm  
_I know my own damn phone number_

Sid blinked. Oh yeah, right.

#1 Hockey Player Sidney Crosby 11:33pm  
_Fuck. Keep up, would you?_

Claude 11:33pm  
_Lay off, it’s been a long day_

#1 Hockey Player Sidney Crosby 11:33pm  
_Whatever. Hotel. Go._

Claude 11:33pm  
_Okay._

Sid checked his pockets. A wallet, his hotel room key—thankfully with the room number on it—along with keys and now the cell phone. He was good to go. He let himself be herded onto the bus, ready to be done with this day but sad that it wouldn’t be in his own bed or body. Mildly panicking, mostly in shock really.

The bus ride back to the hotel felt like forever. When they finally go there, Wayne walked him back to his room, frowning the whole way.

“You’re sure you’re okay? You’ve been acting weird tonight, G.”

Sid fumbled with the keycard then slid it in the wrong way. Wayne didn’t look impressed. Sid nodded, trying to look Captainly and reassuring. “Yeah, no problem. Feeling great.”

Wayne rolled his eyes and clapped Sid on the back, making him jump. He’d never get used to that. Wayne just shook his head, “Alright G. Goodnight.”

Sid tried the door again, finally getting it open. “Yeah, night Simmonds. Uh, Wayne. Simmer. Goodnight.”

He slammed the door shut behind him. The phone in his pocket vibrated

#1 Hockey Player Sidney Crosby 12:06pm  
_Coming up now, be ready._

Claude 12:06pm  
_Okay._

Sid positioned himself by the door.

A couple minutes ticked by before frantic knocks filled his room. Sid pulled the door open. Claude scrambled through it, pushing it shut behind him, breathing hard.

Sid frowned, “Did someone see you?”

Claude shook his head, “No, still ran though.”

Sid nodded, “So what the fuck are we going to do?”

Claude shot him a glare. Another face Sid vowed to never make again. “How the fuck should I know?”

Sid sighed, “Should we call a trainer up here to figure it out?”

Claude shook his head, “No, they might take us out of the lineup. My team needs me right now.”

Sid tried not to roll his eyes at how cocky Claude sounded. “Okay, so now what?”

Claude frowned, “We wait? I think if our bodies are close, maybe they’ll just do it naturally?”

Sid sighed, “Awesome. I love spending time with you.”

Claude frowned, “This isn’t my most favorite thing in the world either, Croz.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry. Do you prefer G?”

“That’s worse,” Sid snapped.

Claude smiled and stepped forwards. Sid held his breath as Claude lifted his hands, taking Sid’s face gently into his hands. He turned it over carefully.

“My face. My beautiful face. What did you do to it?” Claude whispered.

Sid slapped Claude’s hands away. Claude only laughed. “You’re one to talk, look at me! What was with that last hit?”

Claude shrugged, dropping onto the corner of the bed heavily. “Wanted to try one last time.”

“You asshole, they’ll probably suspend me for that.”

Claude barked out a laugh. “You’re Sid, they won’t suspend you. If it were me, I’d get a couple games. You’ll get a slap on the wrist.” Claude winced, “Speaking of, your coach is terrifying when he’s mad.”

It was Sid’s turn to laugh, “I could have told you that. How bad was it?”

“Bad. But I have nothing to compare it too.”

“What he red?”

“Yes.”

“Tendons popping out of his neck?”

Claude thought about it. “Not that I can remember.”

Sid smiled, nodding. “Then it could have been worse.”

Claude looked sympathetic, then turned suddenly and slapped him on the arm, “What was with that hesitation? What the fuck, I was giving it my all and you gave me that bullshit? We could have tied it up.”

Sid snorted, “We? I was doing all the work.”

“Wayne scored.”

“I had two great chances.”

“Yeah, you hesitated too long on one and started a fight that ruined my face and made me a public enemy in Pittsburgh for life, then were too slow. Excellent job.”

Sid rolled his eyes, “Don’t worry, you weren’t well loved to begin with.”

Claude laughed, “Too bad for you I softened it up for the press tonight.”

Sid turned on him, “You did fucking media in my body?” His heart was thudding in his ear and he was seeing red.

Claude laughed, “Oh yeah, of course. I wasn’t passing that up.”

Sid’s jaw worked. He thought over all of the things he wanted to say. Maybe he should just grab a knife and sink it into himself. Into something he wouldn’t need, like a kidney. Let Claude deal with that when he got back.

Claude must have read the anger on his face, because he backtracked a bit. “I was fine Sid. I didn’t say anything you wouldn’t have said. I was boring. I just told them that the last fight was all the punishment I deserved.”

“In a fucking French accent, no doubt.”

That made Claude pause. He laughed, “They’ll think you’re making fun of me, that’s all. Simmer took all the questions?”

Sid nodded, “I told him my head was hurting after your hit on me. After your coach yelled at us I head off to the quiet room. Never been so glad to be there.”

Claude snorted out a laugh. An uncomfortable silence followed.

Sid cleared his throat, “What now?”

Claude thought about it. “Sleep?”

Sid looked around the room, “You’ve only got one bed.”

“Dibs.”

“No way. Plus, if you take the bed and make me sleep on the floor, your body is going to be all fucked up tomorrow.”

Claude looked torn, “Well fuck. I’m not sleeping on the floor tonight.”

Sid felt his face pinch in disgust, “So share?”

Claude looked a little grossed out, “Fine.”

He’d come prepared with sleeping stuff. Sid watched with disgust as Claude changed his body.

Claude noticed him watching, “What, got a better idea?”

Sid cocked his head, thinking. “What if you closed your eyes and I dressed you?”

Claude gave him a taunting look. Sid also filed that one under faces he’d never make again. “You’d be using my hands anyways. Eager to get my hands on your body, Sid?”

“For fuck sakes,” Sid growled. “Just shut up and change already.”

Thankfully Claude didn’t tease him further.

Sid looked through Claude’s suitcase, opting for his briefs because he didn’t think he could stand stripping Claude’s body again and was currently looking for a sleep shirt that didn’t have the Flyers’ logo plastered all over it. He couldn’t find one.

When he turned, Claude was already in bed, watching him. He patted the placed next to him. “Get over here you handsome thing.”

Sid groaned but turned off the lights before climbing into bed. Despite the fact that it was Sid’s own body that was overcrowding him, he still felt uncomfortable.

“Well, as fun as this has been, I sincerely hope to wake up in my own body tomorrow.” Claude announced into the awkward silence.

Sid snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

Claude sighed heavily. “Night Sid.”

Sid smiled, “Night Giroux.”

The good news was that if Sid woke up in the right body tomorrow, he would be well rested because Claude was out in minutes in Sid's body. He was amazed at the ease in which Claude was handling the situation.

The bad news was that Claude would be exhausted because Sid was struggling to fall asleep at all.

Okay, so maybe there was a silver lining to Sid’s restless turning throughout half the night.

He finally fell into a fitful sleep, ready to be done with this body.

______________________________________________

The next morning Sid stretched, surprised to find his hand knocking against another human being. He yelped when he opened his eyes.

Claude was stretched out in front of him. His Flyers’ t-shirt was twisted up around his torso, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, the sheets kicked down the bed. Maybe it hadn’t been Sid who couldn’t sleep last night, but Claude’s body.

Sid held still for a couple of moments, trying to figure out if he was dreaming or not. The hit, the switch, the waking up. Maybe if he closed his eyes, he’d go back to yesterday morning before the game. He tried it. When he opened his eyes, Claude was still sleeping across the bed from him.

Sid sighed. At least he was himself.

He rolled out of bed, not particularly caring if he woke Claude or not. He pulled on his clothing from yesterday, shoving his sleepwear into the backpack Claude had brought. He couldn’t find any toothpaste so he just used Claude’s, wincing at the flavor choice.

Claude still wasn’t awake by the time Sid was done in the bathroom. He scribbled down a note of goodbye on the hotel stationary, not feeling right about leaving without doing anything. Then, he grabbed his bag and slipped out the door, closing it softly behind him.

Thankfully the halls were empty, still too early to really risk running into anyone. That was a really good thing considering he would likely be killed if any Flyers saw him after the hit on Claude’s body last night.

Judging by the keys in his pocket, Sid guessed that Claude had driven over here. The change of clothes also suggested Claude had been in his house. In his house, for goodness sake. Sid sucked in a steadying breath as the elevator doors shut, bringing him down to the parking garage level.

Sure enough, his car was there. It was just a bonus that it was in one piece with no scratches. Sid sank into the driver’s seat, already feeling more himself.

His phone buzzed.

The G stands for Great 5:56am  
_Left without saying goodbye asshole?_

The G stands for Great 5:56am  
_A note doesn’t count_

The G stands for Great 5:56am  
_What the fuck is with this name?_

The G stands for Great 5:56am  
_“#1 Hockey Player Sidney Crosby”?_

The G stands for Great 5:57am  
_I’m changing it_

Sidney Crosby 5:57am  
_You’re one to talk. Goodbye, Giroux._

Asshole Claude Giroux 5:57am  
_Bye Sid. I’d say it was a pleasure, but…_

Sidney Crosby 5:57am  
_I agree. Until next time_

Asshole Claude Giroux 5:57am  
_Let’s skip this bit._

Sidney Crosby 5:57am  
_Agreed._

Sid sighed. He had about a hundred texts filling up his phone and even more questions to answer, but at least he was no longer a Flyer.


	2. Enemy Territory - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sid once again finds himself in enemy territory. In more than one sense.

It happened again, because of course it would. Sid had actually been the one to text Claude the night before their game to remind him to keep his distance. There was no way he’d wanted a repeat of what had happened the last time they’d played each other. They had been so careful to avoid each other on the ice that game, and all it had taken was one slip.

It had been Sid’s fault. He’d been looking for a pass and had run right into Claude, who had been trying his best to scramble out of the way.

A rush of dizziness had over come Sid and the next thing knew, he was looking up at his own body.

Claude punched the ice in frustration hard enough that Sid knew he would likely feel it when he got back. “You should have been fucking paying attention,” Claude hissed at him.

Sid was too busy panicking to come up with a smart reply.

Claude rolled his eyes meanly, “Get it together, Sid. You have the pleasure of being me tonight.”

Sid pushed himself up. The play had stopped and a referee was coming over to check up on them. Claude gave them a friendly wave. Because Sid actually had a good reputation on the ice, the referee hesitated but backed off.

“Just…” Sid sighed, “same as last time, right?”

“Hesitate on a sure goal?”

Sid shook his head and skated towards the Flyers’ bench, climbing in. Dave Hakstol met him at the door, “Go easy on the aggression tonight, G. Leave the Kid alone, focus on your game.”

“Yes Coach,” Sid said dutifully. It was nice to know the Flyers’ weren’t harboring an endless and insatiable need to destroy him as he’d originally suspected.

He watched the game carefully, murmuring praise for the Pens under his breath. He may have even given it his all on the ice too.

_____________________________________________ 

Sid sat patiently in Claude’s stall after the game, waiting for a text.

He’d actually done media tonight, only almost slipping up once. At the end of the day, it was basically the same response no matter what team you play on. ‘We need to be better’, ‘better focus’, ‘come together as a team’. He’d tried to think of what Claude would have said and found it to be pretty similar to anything he would.

His accent had been shit again. He expected some flack about that.

As if on cue, Claude’s phone vibrated.

Sidney Crosby 11:27pm  
_It's Claude. Meet me at my car_

Sidney Crosby 11:27pm  
_We are going to mine tonight_

Sid frowned.

Claude 11:27pm  
_Won’t your team get suspicious if they see you hiding by my car?_

Claude 11:27pm  
_Sorry, me hiding by your car_

Claude 11:27pm  
_Wtf, that’s worse._

Claude 11:27pm  
_It’s my body that’s going to get abused if you get caught_

Sidney Crosby 11:28pm  
_Yeah, didn’t think of that. I’m hiding behind a different car now so hurry up_

Five minutes later, Sid was stumbling around a dark, unfamiliar parking garage. He hit the lock button and a car chirped in the distance. Sid frowned in the direction of the noise and hit it again. The lights flashed. Sid headed off that way. He had to hit the lock button two more times before finding the car along with a very pissed off looking Claude.

“You couldn’t have hit the unlock button so that I could get into the car?” Claude snapped.

Sid blinked, “I didn’t think of that.”

“Clearly. Give me the keys, I’m driving.”

Sid hesitated, “Is that a good idea? You’d be driving in my body, won’t the reflexes be off? Isn’t that unsafe?”

Claude snorted and took a step closer to Sid, almost menacingly. “The only unsafe thing around here would be letting you drive.”

“But your body knows the car—“

Claude snatched the keys from his hand and climbed into the driver’s seat. Sid smiled and walked around to the passenger side.

“Where did you tell the team I was going?” Sid asked when he was in and buckled.

Claude pulled out of his spot, “Nowhere. Just told them I wasn’t taking the bus back with them.” Claude paused and looked over at Sid, “Hey, they were making the exact same face you’re making right now.”

Sid hadn’t decided if punching Claude would be worth it or not yet.

Claude sighed. “You’re lucky you’re so handsome right now,” he said, tweaking Sid’s nose.

Sid slapped his hand away. “Just drive, asshole.”

Claude did, but he looked pretty smug the whole way.

It wasn’t till Sid had climbed up the steps to Claude’s apartment and did a survey of the place did he realize there was a huge problem. “Don’t you have a roommate?”

Claude snorted, “The shit is going to be with his girlfriend all night. We have a day off tomorrow and he must have told me a dozen times that he was going to use it to his advantage.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, don’t worry Crozbo. I’ve thought this through.”

“Not really, considering how you just ditched my team like that. Give me my phone, I’m going to text someone.”

“Okay, fine. But give me mine too.”

They exchanged phones.

Sid had a handful of texts from teammates. He answered most of them with a generic, ‘Visiting with a friend, I’ll be back for the bus tomorrow’ responses, only personalizing a few so no one would panic.

When he finished, he looked up to find Claude smiling down at his phone. Sid looked over curiously, but refrained from asking. Instead he turned towards the kitchen, “What do you usually eat after games? I’m starving.”

Claude joined him and slid into one of the chairs by a table covered in clutter. The place really was a mess. Claude slid the phone into his pocket. “I make a shake. I don’t know what you usually do, but you can look into the fridge and see what works.”

“You just want me to make you something.”

Claude shrugged innocently, “I’m just looking out for your body.”

Sid rolled his eyes, “You make your shake and I’ll come up with something for you.”

Claude sighed dramatically and stood, “How about I teach you?”

“I’m not sure if you’re much of a teacher.”

“Fuck you, I’m as much of a captain as you are.”

“Okay.”

“It’s true,” Claude said indignantly, throwing things into a blender. Sid squinted at the contents skeptically, not sure that he was going to really enjoy it.

Claude blended, then poured out two cups. “Any allergies?” he asked.

Sid shook his head, “No, I’m good.”

Claude nodded and took a glass for himself. He took one sip and spat it out. Sid laughed.

Claude frowned at him. “What’s the matter with you?” he asked, looking down at Sid’s body offendedly.

Sid smiled, “You make shit shakes I guess.”

Claude shook his head, “No I don’t. I love this shake. You try it.”

Sid’s nose pinched in distaste, but he picked up the glass. It didn’t smell awful. He took a tentative sip. Claude was watching him carefully. “It’s not bad,” Sid admitted finally.

Claude huffed. “So how far does this go?” he asked, gesturing between them.

Sid didn’t have a good answer. Instead he chugged the shake, not really sure if he liked it or not, just wanting to get it down.

Claude was looking thoughtful. “I feel your body, and I can feel the things it likes, but sometimes I get confused because I know I like something, but you don’t seem to like it.”

Sid hummed, “Like this shake.”

Claude nodded, “Because I like it, my body does. And also, I tried to make a play today and your body didn’t move fast enough.”

“Hey!” Sid protested.

Claude waved him down, “You know what I mean. You must have felt it too out there, my hands aren’t the same as yours. It takes some getting used to.”

“Didn’t stop you from getting two assists, though.”

Claude snorted, “And you? Way to rack up the points tonight, Croz. No goals, no assists. No hesitations either, so I guess it’s a start.”

“I hate you.”

“I will give you this though,” Claude said. Sid looked over at him. “You have a fantastic ass. Sitting is much more comfortable, I’m going to try to get myself one just like this.”

“I really hate you.”

“I miss my face though. Not much of a looker, are you?”

Sid left the room. Claude was laughing in the kitchen behind him.

He went to walk around the apartment, poking his nose into all of the rooms. He finally found Claude’s bedroom, throwing the door open. Claude appeared over his shoulder suddenly, hovering. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Just looking. What, I’m not allowed in my own room?”

Claude frowned, “My room, this is my room.”

Sid arched an eyebrow at him and stepped into the room, flicking on the lights. “I’m Claude, this is my room.” He declared, teasingly.

Claude sighed heavily, “I truly hope that’s not the accent you use when you are trying to be me.”

Sid smirked, “Always.”

“You’re sleeping on the floor. Better yet, I’ll make you sleep in Schenn’s room.”

Sid snorted, “Not going to happen. Last time we shared a bed. That’s how it’s going to be again this time.”

Claude sighed, “Go brush your teeth. I’ll make the bed while you’re gone. Fuck, I’m going to have to burn these sheets after.”

Sid smiled and did as he was told. He used Claude’s toothbrush. He had a surprisingly hard time with it, feeling as if he was using someone else’s toothbrush, having to remind himself that this really was the toothbrush he should be using. It had been in this mouth a hundred times before.

When he got back the bedroom, Claude had actually done what he had promised. The room even looked a little bit tidier. Claude looked up when Sid entered and huffed, “Don’t give me that look, I didn’t do it for you.”

“Uh huh.”

“I didn’t,” Claude muttered, pushing past him.

“What side do you sleep on?” Sid yelled.

“On the left,” Claude called back.

Sid paused, looking at the bed. Does that mean that Claude wanted to sleep on the left side tonight, or that he wanted Sid on the left side with his body?

Sid was still thinking it over when Claude came back into the room. He sighed and pushed Sid towards the right side of the bed. Claude turned the lights off.

Sid didn’t feel like he was ready for sleep. “So are you going to drive me to the bus tomorrow?”

Claude grunted, “Shouldn’t you take a cab?”

Sid thought it over, “That’s probably a better idea.”

This bed was much smaller than the hotel room bed. Sid shifted, bumping against Claude by accident. Claude made a noise and Sid froze. “Sorry,” he breathed.

Claude grunted in response.

Sid blinked into the darkness. “Why do you think this is happening?”

Claude sighed. It was quiet for a couple of moments. “I’m not sure. Go to sleep.”

Sid tried. Nothing happened. “Have you heard of this ever happening before?”

“No, Sid.” Claude snapped, “Bedtime. Then bodytime.”

“… But—“

“No. Sleep.”

“Yes sir.”

“Shut up and sleep.”

“You don’t sleep well.”

Sid could just make out the smile in the darkness, “And you sleep really well. Let me have this. Please.”

After that, Sid shut up.

Eventually he dozed off, but not after cursing Claude’s poor sleeping habits over and over again throughout the night.

__________________________________________

An alarm woke Claude up. He ignored it and rolled over, shutting his eyes against the harsh light that was streaming through his windows.

There was a thumping noise. “Fuck.”

Claude groaned, covering his ears.

Another thump. The bed jostled. Another curse. Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake. “Fuck, Claude, fuck. Fuck, wake up.”

Claude shot up, already knowing what he’d see.

Claude took in how his own body looked in the morning, hair all tussled and askew, sleep still in his eyes. Still handsome though.

The panicked look Sid wore ruined it. “What do we do?” Sid’s voice was still rough with sleep. It was always weird hearing your own voice, but without his usual accent, it was extra weird.

Claude blinked, looking around the room. He caught an image of himself in the mirror, dark hair sticking up every which way. No, not a morning person. He rubbed his eyes and peeled the sheets back. “We need coffee before we start this conversation.”

“Coffee?” Sid asked in disbelief.

“Yes, coffee.” Claude snapped.

Sid bit his lip. Claude stopped in the middle of the room. “Please tell me you drink coffee in this boring body, Sid.”

Sid sighed, “I drink coffee.”

Claude sighed, “Thank fucking god.”

Five minutes later, they each had a cup of coffee in their hands. Sid hadn’t relaxed for a single second, pacing and shifting. He had this look on his face, like he was concentrating really hard on something. Claude did his best to ignore it, not ready to deal with this bullshit just yet.

Sid clearly wasn’t on the same wavelength though. “We have to tell someone. My team needs my mind more than my body. I’ve got to go back to Pittsburgh.”

Claude shook his head, “We do that and someone is going to drag us off to a lab. Or to a psych ward. Then it’s no hockey at all.”

Sid bit his lip, then resumed pacing. “Then you have to go back to Pittsburgh today with my team and try to be me.”

“Last time we had to be close to change. I’m not going to Pittsburgh, I can’t.”

Sid stopped, planting himself in front of Claude. “Can’t or won’t?”

Claude narrowed his eyes, “Can’t, asshole. I can’t. I would fuck something up for sure.”

Sid paused, watching him. “I’m going to drive you to the hotel. You’re going to go get Geno, and we will explain this to him. He can help look out for you while you’re there. If we don’t change back by tomorrow morning, we will have to tell someone.”

Claude thought it over. It made sense logically, but he didn’t want to leave his body in the hands of his rival on the other side of the state. Finally, Claude sighed. “I’m going to go type up a list of all the things you need to do to look after my body. My schedule, my diet, any important things to know for around the house. Thankfully my dog is in Ottawa, so I don’t have to worry about you killing it.”

Sid smiled, “I’ll take a shower while you do that, then I’ll write mine.”

Claude nodded and took another sip of his coffee, “Good thing you woke us up at this ungodly hour.”

Sid rolled his eyes and made his way to the bathroom. “Write down things I need to know about Schenn too, I don’t want to look like an idiot when he talks to me.”

“If everything goes according to plan, you’ll be back in your own body before that happens.” Claude called, but Sid was already in the bathroom with his body.

He sat down at the computer, still feeling drowsy. He wondered if that was him or Sid. Probably him. He typed out the list. Down the hall, the shower turned on. Claude tried to ignore it. He didn’t want to think about what Sid could be doing down there with his body. He better be treating it like the treasure that it was.

Claude snorted. Sid didn’t half ass anything. He was more worried about fucking something up for Sid in Pittsburgh. He was still trying to mute his accent, not quite succeeding. For the most part, he has just pretended to do mocking impressions of himself for his new teammates when they looked at him funny. It was odd to see Pens players laughing at his jokes.

Sid was fast in the shower. There was more shuffling, and the bathroom door opened.

“Did you brush my teeth?” Claude called.

“For fuck’s sake—yes Claude.” Sid yelled. Footsteps sounded in the hall and Claude’s bedroom door shut. Claude smiled.

A couple moments later, the bedroom door opened and Sid came padding out in one of Claude’s suits. Claude blinked, “Why are you wearing that?”

Sid looked surprised, “I’m driving you to the hotel. What else would I wear?”

Claude tisked, “Normal clothing? Go change, you pigeon. I’ve got the day off so try to relax.”

Sid sulked, but went to change. He came back in jeans and a plain black shirt. Claude laughed, making Sid frown. “Then you go pick clothes out for yourself,” Sid mumbled, pushing Claude out of the chair to look over the list.

Claude shook his head, “You’re fine. It’s just… odd. You’re dressing me up the way you want me to look instead of how I usually look. My hair’s even done differently.”

Sid reached up and patted his hair self-consciously. “You have a lot less hair than me, I didn’t know what to do with it.”

Claude couldn’t help it. He stepped up behind Sid and began fixing his hair. He felt Sid stiffen under his hands, body tensing. Claude shook his head, “Calm down, I’m fixing my hair, not murdering you.”

Sid hummed noncommittally and pulled up a new document on the computer, typing out everything Claude needed to know about his body. Claude paused. He ran his nails over Sid’s scalp.

Sid instantly got goose bumps, hairs rising on his arms, letting out a little noise. He shivered, looking back at Claude with wide eyes. “What was that?”

Claude smiled, “I don’t know, I wanted to try it. I fucking love it when people do that to me, I wanted to see if it’d have the same effect on you.”

Sid was surprisingly grumpy about it. “Yeah, it felt great. Okay, go have your shower now.”

Claude sighed and stepped back. “Yes sir.”

Sid sighed, turning back to the computer. “I guess you’ll have to wear my suit from yesterday. I should have remembered to wash it.”

Claude watched the tense muscles of Sid’s back, then shook his head, turning. “It would have needed to be dry cleaned anyways.”

Sid hummed, typing away.

Claude was also quick about showering. Even if you tried ignoring the fact that it wasn’t your body you were washing, you still knew. It felt different, reacted differently. It was an uncomfortable feeling.

At least in his home, he knew how to care for himself, and, as an extension of that, care for Sid’s body. He knew where everything was in his home and in the city. Sid was asking him to go, by himself on a plane full of rivals who hated him, to a city he didn’t know and live in a house that wasn’t his. On top of that, he had to care for Sid’s incredibly routine oriented and superstition-driven body. He wasn’t sure if he could do that.

He put on a brave face anyways, and by the time he was dressed and ready, Sid was standing in the middle of his living room holding two papers. Claude joined him.

Sid handed him one. “This is for me. It’s pretty straight forward.”

Claude sputtered when he saw it, “Straight forward? This is a nightmare.”

Sid rolled his eyes and stepped closer to him, looking over his shoulder. “I wrote down the addresses to all of the locations and put down where to find anything important, including where my car is parked in the airport parking lot and which cupboard the protein powder is in the kitchen. You're going to be okay.”

Claude sucked in a steadying breath and nodded. “Okay. Okay, I can do this.”

Sid pulled out the second list, the one Claude had written. “I took the liberty of removing some things from your list.”

Claude frowned, “That’s extremely rude, I will be doing everything you put on my list exactly.”

Sid shot him a look. “Well, I will not be texting Wayne at 12pm to remind him about a colonoscopy, nor do I believe you when you say to call him Princess. I think that would get me killed.”

Claude tried to mask a smile, “How dare you disrespect Princess like that.”

Sid didn’t even laugh, he was still looking at the list. “I will also not be 'jerking off this hot bod 4 times a day’.” He said, giving Claude a pointed look.

Claude sighed, “I’m going to eat so many grilled chesses in your body for that.”

Sid set the paper on the table and started putting his shoes on. “I don’t like grilled cheeses. Don’t ruin them for yourself by eating them in my body, it’ll be like the shake all over again.”

Claude sighed and put his shoes on as well, “You’re no fun.”

Claude ended up driving. In the passenger seat, Sid was texting someone. “I’m going to keep my phone. When we change back, I’ll just express mail yours to you.”

“Okay. Just forward any texts with stuff that I need to know to me, okay?”

Sid nodded, “Also, Geno is going to meet us in the parking garage. He’ll be there when we arrive.”

Claude nodded. They were about five minutes off now. “He’s going to think you’re in trouble with the Philly mob or something.”

Sid frowned, “Is that a thing?”

Claude nodded seriously, “Oh yeah. They are the one’s responsible for all of this. We’re going to have to pay them off. You can just send your portion of the money to me and I’ll take care of it though.”

Sid smiled, “Fuck you.”

Claude pulled into the garage. Sure enough, Geno was waiting for them by the staircase to the hotel. He frowned when they pulled up.

Sid rolled down the window and Geno bent down, looking into the car. He was looking at Sid skeptically. “Giroux,” he said formally. He looked over at Claude, frowning more deeply. “Sid, why you driving?”

Sid sighed from the passenger seat, “Hop in G, we’ve got some stuff to talk about.”

Geno hesitated, as if anticipating some kind of prank or surprise. Finally, he climbed in. Claude pulled the car into a parking spot. They turned to look at Geno, who was sitting patiently in the backseat.

“G, we’ve got something to tell you, but you can’t tell anyone.”

Geno narrowed his eyes at Sid. “Secret. Is secret you and Sid friends? Fine, I go now.”

Sid reached back, stopping Geno with a hand on his knee. Geno arched an eyebrow at him. Sid sighed and pulled his hand back. “I’m Sid. It’s me.”

Geno looked between them slowly, evaluating the situation. “I don’t understand.”

Claude sighed, “We switched bodies, and now I have to go back to Pittsburgh with you guys. But I need help because I don’t know anything about your team.

Geno looked skeptical. Claude didn’t really blame him, but they were short on time. “Fuck, Sid. Can you just explain it?”

Sid sighed. He started from the beginning. Geno was listening carefully, nodding at the appropriate times, asking polite questions. Claude was mildly impressed, watching the time carefully. They were cutting it close.

“So now I need you to look after Claude until I get back.” Sid finished.

Geno was still nodding gently, looking thoughtful. Sid cocked his head, “Do you understand?”

Geno was quiet for a couple moments, then he cracked a huge smile. “Yes. Is joke.” He laughed, clapping the two of them on the shoulder. “Is okay, Giroux. I look after Sid, even if he friends with you.”

Sid looked like he was going to object, but Claude cut him off, laughing too. “You got us. Should have seen your face. Yup, friends. Just wanted to make sure you knew, but we don’t want to tell the whole team yet.”

Sid was giving him a puzzled look. Claude looked pointedly down at his watch and Sid sighed, understanding. He turned to Geno. “This was Sid’s idea. I wasn’t sure you’d go for it, but I’m glad you think it’s as funny as Sid hoped.”

“Is okay, Giroux. You learn jokes too one day.” With that, Geno smiled and opened the back door, climbing out. The car jostled as he did.

Sid gave Claude a panicked look, “What are you going to do know?”

He didn’t know, but he didn’t want Sid to know that he was feeling about as unconfident as Sid looked. He put on a cocky smile. “No problem. I’ve dealt with worse than your evil team,” he teased.

Sid gave him a small smile at that. They both got out of the car. Claude tossed Sid the keys as he came around to the driver’s side. Geno was waiting behind the car.

“So you have my house keys and your phone?” Sid asked quietly.

Claude nodded, “And your ridiculous list.”

Sid smiled, “Don’t forget about the accent.”

“Fucking work on mine please. Out loud in the empty house.”

Sid laughed, “Okay. If the Lemieux boys come to visit, don’t turn them away. Ever. You can tell them you’re doing something boring and they might leave, but besides that, just have fun with them, okay?”

Claude laughed, “I’m going to have to do some internet research I think.”

Sid blinked, “You don’t know who Mario is?”

Claude scoffed, “Of course I do. Just...not as well as you do.”

Sid looked stricken. Geno cleared his throat behind them, checking his watch. “Okay. I’ll text you some stuff. My room is on the 7th floor, everything is already packed. Oh, except for my charger, that’s still in the wall, don’t forget it.”

Claude tried a smile, “Don’t worry Sid, I’ve got this.”

Sid’s smiled likewise looked thin. “Call me tonight?”

Claude snorted, “You wish. Can’t wait to be back in my body. You better send me my phone right away.”

Sid rolled his eyes, “I promise.”

Claude nodded. “Okay then. Wish me luck. Hope I don’t get you killed.”

Sid frowned, “Don’t joke about that, you’ll be fine.”

“I wonder if I’d get sent back into my body if you die…”

“Claude.”

“Right, sorry. Your Russian is waiting.”

Sid was shaking his head. Claude gave him one last smile before leaving Sid, going to greet Geno again properly, who was apparently expecting a hug. Claude tried to relax into the embrace but found he couldn’t really. Geno definitely didn’t believe it was Claude in there if he was giving him such a warm hug. It was actually kind of nice.

They watched Sid pull out of the parking lot together before going upstairs. They were quiet until the elevator. “Why big joke, Sid? Why not just say?”

Claude gave him a hard look, gauging his reaction. “Didn’t know what you’d think.”

Geno cocked his head, “You no mind when Sasha come visit. Or I visit Sasha. Is same thing.”

Sasha. Who the fuck was Sasha? He’d have to remember to ask Sid. Instead, he nodded, “I guess. Still not something I want to share with the team.”

Geno nodded, then frowned. “You sick? Voice odd.”

Claude cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the accent. “Maybe,” was all he said.

Geno shrugged.

They walked back to Sid’s room. Claude did not anticipate surviving this trip.


	3. Enemy Territory - Part 2

The plane ride was a disaster. It wasn’t Sid’s body that was the problem, but the fact that Claude was still trapped inside of it.

The night before he had given the team a short answer about where he was going for the night, not expecting to have to follow up on it later. Today he had to do a lot more talking than he’d hoped and even got stuck next to Fleury, whose ridiculously French accent made Claude want to converse in French. He found himself slipping a few times, earning a couple of curious looks.

Fleury smiled, “You been practicing your French, Sid?”

Claude looked him over, thinking. He smirked, then let loose one of his most foul string of Quebecois swears that he knew, whispering it sweetly to Fleury in perfect French. Something about his mother potentially being a prostitute, it was nothing really.

Fleury looked taken aback. Letang, who had been playing cards across the isle, jerked his head around to look at him. Claude was afraid he had gone too far.

Letang burst out laughing, reaching across the isle to clap him on the back. Fleury was chuckling as well. Claude smiled.

“How long did it take you to learn that one? Fleury chirped.

Letang was shaking his head. “My mother would have washed out my mouth with soap for something like that.”

Fleury grinned over to his teammate, “Classic French mother move.”

Letang turned back to Claude. “You been talking to guys in the Q again?”

Claude went with it, “Chatted with a few last week.”

Letang nodded. Fleury was smirking now, “I love when you get all feisty, mon capitaine.”

“I’m not feisty.”

“A little,” Letang supplied, eyes carefully on his card game.

“Was is Giroux?” Fleury asked. “You always get a little excitable when we play the Flyers.” He said, smiling.

Claude snorted. “Barely worth getting excited over,” he said. None of them would realize the real connotation behind his words.

“You guys have been paying extra attention to each other the past couple of games,” Letang commented, glancing over.

Claude snorted, trying to appear casual. “It’s simple. He hates me, I hate him.”

Fleury frowned, “That’s not what you said last time.”

“What?”

Letang looked over, “Yeah, last game after all that shit happened and we wanted to kill him, you told us that he had received all the punishment he deserved and we should let it go.”

Claude almost snorted. It hadn’t been Sid who’d said that, but Claude while still in Sid’s body. He nodded, “Yes, but that was after I hit him. I was feeling pretty good.”

Fleury was searching his face. “Yeah, but then the next day at practice you were telling us all how much you respect his game.”

Claude blinked. Unsure of how to respond to that he hesitated slightly. “I guess… in a sense I do? It’d be easier to hate him.” He admitted, more two himself than anyone.

Letang hummed, “I fucking hate Simmonds.”

Claude sputtered, letting out a little outraged sound, “Hey. First of all, he is just out there, doing his job—“ the look on Pens player’s faces made him pause. Claude paled. He’d just forgotten and had slipped.

Letang arched an eyebrow at him, “Really Sid? Another Giroux impression?”

Claude tried a smile, but it felt thin. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist?”

Letang laughed, but Fleury was watching him again.

Claude swallowed, “I’m going to listen to my music. You guys are being asses.” He said, trying for funny but not quite getting there. Letang nodded. Fleury just cocked his head.

The rest of the plane ride thankfully passed in silence. No one else gave him any more trouble. Fleury was still by his side when they got off the plane and claimed their luggage, walking over to the parking lot together.

Claude heavily resisted the urge to hit the panic button to find the car, searching around for a vehicle with an emblem that matched the keys in his pocket. After a couple minutes, Fleury arched an eyebrow at him “Are you walking me to my car?”

Claude tried a laugh, “I actually forgot where I parked. I was, uh, hoping that following you would jog my memory.”

“Mhmm. Over there, Sid.” He said, pointing off to the far right.

Claude nodded gratefully. “Okay, thanks. See you at practice…”

“Tomorrow,” Fleury supplied.

“Yes, tomorrow. Of course.” Claude said. He resisted the urge to reach into his pocket and pull out the paper Sid had given to him.

Fleury turned to him suddenly. “I’m getting a little worried about you, Sid.”

Claude swallowed and tried a smile, “No need. I’m doing great.”

Fleury snorted, “Maybe you should come eat dinner with me and Vero tonight. Hang with the kids.” Claude smiled at that. Fleury rolled his eyes, “Cancel that date tonight. I know that’s what’s making you all… anxious.” He said, gesturing to Claude.

Claude blinked, “Um, what?”

Fleury gave him a flat look, “Don’t play dumb, Geno told me.” Fleury sighed, “Just remember that if it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. It’s not like hockey where you can work at it and you get better and everything will be okay. If it’s not meant to be, it’s just not meant to be. Not your fault.”

Claude was rooted to his spot. “Date,” he repeated dumbly.

Fleury ran a hand over his face, then looked back up at Sid. “Okay Sid. Okay. If you want to do this, fine. I said nothing about the date, I know nothing. You enjoy.”

“I um. Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow I guess.” Claude said dumbly.

Fleury looked disappointed, but continued to his car. Claude whipped the paper out of his pocket, double checking where the car was parked and ran the rest of the way, not caring how awkward it was with his bag. He threw everything into the trunk and climbed into the driver’s seat, pulling out the paper again. Nothing about a date anywhere on it.

He pulled out his phone, thankful that he and Sid had decided to each keep their own. He fired off a text.

Claude 11:12am  
_Sid, you fucked up_

Sidney Crosby 11:12am  
_Hi Claude, I’m great thanks for asking, you?_

Claude 11:12am  
Shut up asshole

Claude 11:12am  
_When were you going to tell me ABOUT THE FUCKING DATE?_

Sidney Crosby 11:12am  
_Oh fuck_

Claude 11:12am  
_Go on_

Sidney Crosby 11:12am  
_I totally forgot… I have a date tonight._

Claude 11:12am  
_No fucking shit_

Sidney Crosby 11:12am  
_Yeah, a first date_

Claude 11:12am  
_No._

Sidney Crosby 11:12am  
_Claude…_

Claude 11:12am  
_No, cancel. Tell her you are vomiting everywhere. No._

Sidney Crosby 11:12am  
_You have to!_

Claude 11:12am  
_No._

Sidney Crosby 11:12am  
_Her name is Kelsey, you’ll be fine_

Claude 11:12am  
_No. No, no nononnonononononnoo._

Sidney Crosby 11:12am  
_Thank you. I’ll text you the address and directions. Put it on my card_

Claude 11:12am  
_Still no._

Sidney Crosby 11:12am  
_Claude, please._

Sidney Crosby 11:12am  
_Just go. You’ll have fun. She is fun._

Claude 11:12am  
_Your definition of ‘fun’ is not reassuring to me_

Sidney Crosby 11:12am  
_I’ll clean your house if you do this for me_

Claude 11:12am  
_… the bathroom too?_

Sidney Crosby 11:12am  
_maybe_

Claude 11:12am  
_Say the bathroom and we have a deal_

Sidney Crosby 11:12am  
_… fuck, okay._

Claude 11:12am  
_I’m not following your meal plan._

Sidney Crosby 11:12am  
_Thank you_

Claude 11:12am  
_You owe me your soul._

Claude 11:12am  
_What can you tell me about her?_

Sidney Crosby 11:12am  
_… I’ll like her? I don’t know, just say things I would say. It’s a first date._

Claude 11:12am  
_Fuck me, this a blind date???_

Sidney Crosby 11:12am  
_Yes, okay, thank you, have fun!_

Claude sucked in a deep breath, looking vacantly out the front window of the car.

“Fuck,” he yelled, throwing his phone down onto the empty seat next to him.

___________________________________________

It only went downhill from there. Sid hadn’t specified which key opened the house and when he’d finally gotten in, he’d forgotten to prepare himself with the key code. Another second and he would have set off the alarm, but finally, he was home.

Well, Sid’s home, but a home nonetheless.

Apparently he had things he was supposed to be doing. There was no game that night, so he didn’t have to do half of the things on the list. Why Sid had written them was beyond him.

So Claude poked around the house, searching it for anything that he could use against Sid in the future. The only thing that he found for chirping was that there was nothing here to chirp him about. Sid either had a really great hiding spot or genuinely didn’t have anything remotely incriminating or embarrassing in his house. No dirty magazines, no porn anywhere visible. There were condom and lube in the top drawer, but what was Claude going to do, chirp the guy for having sex? What would that say about Claude?

Sid had been smarter than to give him the password to his computer, and his book choices were sadly dull. Claude sighed heavily, already bored.

After, Claude tried the workout regiment that was listed. He only got through half of it, having no idea or not understanding what the other half even was. The weights and cardio were simple enough, but after tiring of trying to figure out Sid’s shit, he started doing exercises that he usually did in his body at home.

It was fun though. Claude had always enjoyed working out, and it was interesting to see how Sid’s body responded to everything in comparison to his own. Sid’s body was built like a tank, bulky and strong, only starting to thin out now because they were nearing the end of their season.

The post-workout shake tasted better than he expected and the shower felt great. Later he nearly gagged on his lunch, so whatever was on his pre-approved meal plan had to be something that Sid hated as well. Claude figured that after the workout he’d done today, Sid’s body deserved a grilled cheese regardless of Sid’s opinions.

And Sid’s body also fucking _loved_ grilled cheeses, making Sid a huge liar.

________________________________________

He’d Googled the restaurant beforehand and learned that he needed to dress up for it. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, but just to show how much he cared, he’d arrived at Kelsey’s house five minutes early. Not that it mattered, she was five minutes late.

When they were both in the car, finally buckled in and ready to go, Claude took a moment to take her in. She was beautiful. Young, blonde, just teetering on the hot side. Claude almost frowned, unable to picture her next to Sid.

She was quiet though, and Claude wasn’t sure that was a good thing either. He had to start every conversation they had for the entire ride over, asking about the things she liked, how her day had gone, what her plans for later in the week were.

Inside the restaurant, they were guided towards a private table in the back. Claude was grateful for that, having heard stories about what happened when Sid went out in public. Besides the occasional curious glance, they were pretty well sheltered from prying eyes here. They ordered wine and were left alone.

Claude looked across the table at Kelsey, who appeared to be texting. He blinked and resisted the urge to send Sid another ‘no’ themed text message. Instead, he waited.

Finally she put her phone down onto the table. Claude also resisted the urge to ask he to put it into her purse. “Thank you for coming with me tonight,” he said instead.

She smiled, “How could I say no? You’re as handsome as they say you are.”

Fucking gag. Claude smiled thinly though and returned the compliment. He was trying for charming, but as he thought about it, he realized that Sid probably wouldn’t be charming. He’d be a little awkward, probably charmingly so, but not _charming_. Claude swallowed. He didn’t want the next date to be like dating a completely different person for Kelsey. Well, that was exactly what it would be.

“What do you do?” Claude asked.

“I do PR work for one of the businesses in Pittsburgh,” she said.

“Would I know of them?”

She paused, thinking about it. “Probably not,” she said finally.

“Ah,” was all Claude could say. He made himself busy reading the menu.

A lot of the things on it were favorites of his, but he had no clue what Sid’s body would tolerate. You couldn’t go wrong with a steak, right?

He looked up to ask her what she was thinking of ordering, only to find her back on her phone. Claude blinked. He sighed and put down his menu.

If he was going to survive this, he would need more wine. He was about to call the waiter over when he remembered that he was driving.

He sighed, this was going to be a long fucking date.

__________________________________________

 Claude dropped Kelsey off at home immediately after the date. She had tried to suggest going for a walk, but Claude had feigned tiredness. The car ride back had been quiet.

Now he was back at Sid’s house, standing in the middle of Sid’s bedroom, looking at himself in the full-length mirror. Some home renovation show was on in the background on the giant television opposite to the bed.

Claude looked down at himself, smiling faintly. He was wearing an orange Flyers’ shirt, sporting his own number 28 on the back quite smugly. He had hid it under Sid’s suit before leaving the house this morning. Claude was really hoping that they would switch bodies during the night and Sid would wake up sporting the outfit.

He smiled, glancing up at the strange reflection in the mirror. The smile faltered as he took a step closer, cocking his head. He’d never really had the chance to be alone like this. Before he was either surrounded by Pens players or had Sid hovering. He was by himself here.

He snorted and shook his head, pulling out his phone. He snapped a picture of himself wearing the Flyers’ shirt, now forever having a picture of the great Sidney Crosby sporting the enemy’s colors. Oh, the things he could do with such a picture. He smiled and tucked the phone away. He jumped onto the bed, settling in against the unnecessary amount of pillows.

Claude tried focusing on what was on the television, but his mind kept wondering back to his body. He slid his hand down, slipping it under his shirt. He patted his belly happily, unsure of what else to do. He kept on thinking of it as “Sid’s body”, but when he was in it, it felt like his own. He felt everything that was happening in it, felt the old aches even if he didn’t know where they came from. When he looked closer, he saw the scars that covered his skin. He wondered if Sid would notice the surgery scars on his wrists and feel anything.

He sighed, missing his body. His real body. Actually, he missed the feeling of being able to just be near someone without having to keep them at a distance because you were afraid you’d do something wrong or strange. That was something Sid must be able to relate to.

Now he was going to spend the night in a stranger’s bed, in a stranger’s body, all by himself. The only consolation was that Sid slept well, but not even that would help when his mind was reeling like this.

The sad thing was that he actually missed Sid. He kept thinking of Sid, staying with him and rationalizing the situation for him. Back at the hotel this morning, Claude had wanted them to stay together, even if that meant putting Sid at risk. He’d been scared and unsure, but it had been Sid who had actually believed in him enough to push him to go to Pittsburgh. That said something. It had been just this morning that they’d woken up startlingly close to each other, breathing the same air.

He bit his lip and looked over at the phone on his bedside table. Before he could think it over, Claude sighed and picked it up, punching in the number.

Sid picked up on the second ring. “Hello?” His voice sounded groggy.

Claude smiled slightly, “Did I wake you up?”

“No. Maybe.” There was some crackling over the line, the sounds of things being shuffled around. “I was actually waiting for you to call after the date. I must have dozed off.”

Claude smiled, shifting around a bit. “You couldn’t be tired, you didn’t do anything today.”

“I’ll have you know I worked out. I also made a list of weak points that you’ll need to continue developing in order to be a better player.”

“That’s generous,” Claude said. He’d been going for bitter but had somehow ended up sounding fond. “Won’t your team be angry at you? Helping the enemy and all that.”

Sid snorted, “It’s my body too now. I’ve got to get it working properly.”

Claude wanted to argue, but he couldn’t help kind of feeling the same way about Sid’s body. The environment was odd, but the body was starting to feel familiar. “Whatever. So I went on this stupid date, did you clean my house?”

“Yes,” Sid drew out the word almost like a whine. “Now tell me about the date.” Sid pushed.

“It was okay.” He said distractedly, flipping through the television channels. He paused, “Actually, it was awful. I said that I’d call her, but I suggest you don’t.”

“Shit. What was wrong with her?”

Claude turned off the TV and opened the bedside table drawer, fishing around inside it. “Generic.” He said finally. “Boring. Nothing original about her.”

“Those are the things you say about me.” He sounded frustrated.

“Yes. So you need someone to contrast that. Someone exciting, you know?” Claude laughed, spotting the condoms again. “Someone who’s going to make you want to expand your shitty supply, I can tell you’re not getting any Sid. Seriously weak bachelor pad you’ve got here.”

Sid groaned, “You went through my things?”

Claude snorted, “You saw all of my shit.”

Sid let out a laugh. “I couldn’t not. Your room is a mess. Everything is out. I did hide everything away while I was cleaning, though.”

Claude smiled, “I honestly can’t believe you tried to hide yours away like a teenager. I felt dirty finding it, it should be left out.”

Sid laughed, “Whatever. Get back to the date.”

“She was texting during dinner.”

“Oh no,” Sid breathed.

“Yeah.”

Sid hummed, “I see what you mean.”

“Plus I think she was under the impression that all you talked about was hockey, because she kept going back to it.” Claude said, wincing sympathetically at the memory.

Sid groaned, “That sucks.”

“Yeah, for you it does.”

In the background, the sound of a door being opened could be heard. There was some muffled words, then some more, clearer now.

It was Brayden.

“—not on the phone with your dog again, are you?” he chirped.

“That was one time.” Claude sulked.

Sid could be heard snorting, “It’s none of your business. Go away.”

There was the sound of people coming together. The phone was dropped, making Claude wince.

“You cleaned the whole house except my room, what the hell?”

Claude smiled at that.

“I’m not touching your shit, get off me you weirdo,” Sid huffed at Schenn.

Claude pressed his lips into a thin line disapprovingly. He was going to loss cool points after this was finished.

“Wierdo? Weirdo!” Schenn cried delightedly. “Oh, you hurt my feelings, Cap. I’m telling everyone you bully me.”

Claude sighed, already imagining the ribbing he’d get for this later.

“Keep this up and I will, you dick. Get out of my room.” Sid called after him.

Claude laughed. He’d never heard Sid talk like that before.

There was more muffled arguing, then static as the phone was moved around. Sid sighed and suddenly, he was back.

“How do you live with him?”

Claude smiled. “I ask myself that everyday.”

“I genuinely feared for my life for a second there.”

“You get used to it.”

Sid hummed, then yawned loudly over the line. “Sorry, sorry. You don’t sleep well.”

“Really? I’m surprised.”

Sid laughed. Claude smiled a little too. “I was dozing earlier.” Sid said, yawning again.

“Well don’t let me stop you, you can go back to sleep.”

“I’m talking to you.”

Claude rolled over in the bed and pulled himself up just enough to work the sheets back, climbing between them. “You don’t have to be though, we can talk tomorrow.”

“Mm, I guess.” Sid sounded exhausted.

“Are you in bed?”

“Yes mom.” Sid said indignantly, but he did sound tired.

“Don’t sass me.”

A small laugh. Then there was silence over the line. Claude put the phone on speaker and placed it on the pillow next to him, looking around the room. It wasn’t his room, but it was starting to feel a little more comfortable now. It was oddly professional and plain, unlike his own room which was very personalized to who he was. He kind of felt bad for Sid, so under a microscope since day one.

He smiled, who was he kidding? He didn’t feel bad for him. Sid was fine. Over the phone, soft breaths could be heard. Claude restrained from asking him if he was still awake. Instead he turned off the TV and let his eyes droop and then shut gently.

It had felt like only seconds but it must have been much longer, because when he opened his eyes again, he wasn’t in Sid’s big, awkward bedroom. He was in his own bed, a voice coming through muffled in his phone, which had fallen onto the floor.

Claude fumbled around for it. “Hello?” He almost sighed in relief. It felt so good to hear his own voice again, the way it should be.

“Why am I wearing a Flyers’ shirt?” came Sid’s confused voice.

Claude laughed, “Like that, do you?”

“I’m burning it.” Sid said immediately.

“You can’t. If I find out you did, I’m leaking the images.”

Sid groaned over the phone, “Of course you did.”

“This is your fault for sending me to Pittsburgh.”

“And now you’re back in your proper body. Happy?”

Claude thought about it, looking around his bedroom. “Yes.”

There was a pause. “Well this has been fun.” Sid said finally. “May it never happen again.”

“At this rate? I highly doubt that it won’t happen again.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?” Sid asked.

Claude paused. “I think… that if it were anyone else, I’d be a little more concerned.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

Claude smiled, “Sure.”

Sid yawned over the line. Then he swore, “This is going to be a hell of a phone bill.”

“I’ll forward you mine as well.”

A heavy sigh, “Whatever Claude. I’m going back to bed.”

“Okay, but don’t forget to text Kelsey tomorrow. I told her you would.”

“Yeah, Kelsey.”

“Lame duck, Sid. Don’t fall for it.”

Sid snorted, “I am an adult who can make their own decisions.”

“Sure.”

Another yawn. “Goodnight Claude.”

Claude smiled “Goodnight Sid.” There was a hum of acknowledgement, then the line went dead. Claude put the phone on the bedside table. He clicked off the light and settled in for the rest of the night.

He even fell asleep amazingly quickly too.

_________________________________________

The next day Claude got a package in the mail from Pittsburgh. It was surprisingly bigger than he expected it to be. Brayden was hanging over his shoulder when he opened the door, watching Claude sign for it.

“What’s that?” he asked.

Claude thanked the delivery man and shut the door. “None of your fucking business.”

Schenn was hovering, “Package from Pittsburgh? Is that safe to open?”

“Yes Schenn, go away.” Claude said, trying to be patient. He crossed the living room, turning the package over in his hands. There wasn’t a name on the return address, but Claude was pretty sure he knew who it was from.

He went to his bedroom to open it, unsure of what he’d find. Brayden didn’t try to follow him this time, just stood there, sulking in the living room.

Claude closed the door behind him, ripping the package open with his bare hands. He laughed when he saw the contents within.

His phone slid out, thumping heavily on the floor. A t-shirt lay offensively in his hands. It was only fair, he supposed. Maybe this meant that Sid had kept the one that Claude had given him.

He unfolded the shirt, the name CROSBY was emblazed on the back, his number included underneath. The Pens logo was on the front. It definitely wasn’t Claude’s size, probably something that Sid had taken out of his own closet.

Claude brought it to his nose and inhaled. It definitely smelled of Sid’s house. He smiled and reached down for his phone. He paused when he went to slide it open. There was a picture of Sid as the lock screen.

Claude groaned but couldn’t help the smile on his face. When he punched in his passcode, he found another picture of Sid as his phone background.

Claude 9:38pm  
_I hate you_

Sid responded right away.

Sidney Crosby 9:38pm  
_You really don’t though_

Claude smiled. Maybe that was kind of true.


	4. Enemy of my Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sid wins the Stanley Cup. Claude is there to help celebrate this big moment for him.

Sid had sent his pregame reminder text the night before the game. Claude had been expecting it at that point.

They had worked everything out. Claude would be going back to Sid’s to spend the night, where they would hopefully change back before Claude had to be on an airplane back home in the morning. Claude had even come up with a good excuse for not going back to the hotel and had cleared it with Simmonds.

That’s why, when the entire game went by without switching, Claude found himself stumped and a little lost.

In the final minutes of the game, Sid even crashed into him purposefully, going as far as to “lose” a glove to brush his bare fingers across Claude’s exposed neck.

Sid had looked as frustrated as Claude felt. It sucked having to wait for it. It’d be easier if it happened and was done with so they can just deal with it.

He felt Sid’s eyes on him as he left the ice after the game, trudging back to the visitor’s dressing room. He knew he would be getting a text later on.

He’d barely striped himself of his equipment when his phone went off.

Sidney Crosby 10:42pm  
_Still meeting me at my car?_

Claude stared down at the text, unsure. He was feeling a little lost with nothing to connect with Sid about if not this horrific body swapping experience.

Finally he typed out a message.

Claude 10:47pm  
_Okay_

Twenty minutes later he was climbing into Sid’s car with him, still in his proper body.

Sid was looking at him intensely. Sid was, in Sid’s body. It was a little unnerving.

“We should be close anyways, right?” Sid asked, sounding really unsure.

“What if that triggers it and we have bigger problems to worry about?”

Sid looked thoughtfully out the front windshield. “At least we’ll be together to work out a game plan?”

Claude sucked in a deep breath. “Yeah, okay.”

Sid nodded, still not looking at him, and started the car. It was a short drive to his house.

Inside Claude was feeling even more lost. Last time he’d been in Sid’s house, he’d been alone, trapped inside of a strange body. Now he was there out of his own free will.

Unsure of what else to do, they went into the kitchen and made their post game snacks. Sid kept on bumping into him despite the enormity of the kitchen, which was huge compared to the one in Claude’s apartment.

The third time it happened Claude was ready to snap something at him, only to find Sid looking dazed and just a little frustrated. Claude waved him down to a seat at the kitchen island and shoved the small plate of fruits he’d been cutting at him. Sid accepted them with a gracious nod.

They picked at it in silence.

Claude cleared his throat. “What happened to that girl you were seeing?”

Sid snorted, grateful for anything to talk about. “You mean the girl you were seeing? I didn’t actually set up another date with her.”

Claude hummed, giving him a knowing smile. “She got one taste of me and couldn’t settle for anything less, right?”

Sid rolled his eyes, “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Sassy,” Claude commented, reaching for more apple. “I remember Fleury saying that you were anxious about it. Why did you agree to it in the first place?”

Sid made a face, “You never told me Fleury knew. No wonder he kept on peppering me with weird dating questions.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Sid sighed, “The Pens PR woman talked me into it. She said I was coming off cold to the public because I wasn’t dating.”

Claude snorted, “I’m pretty sure you’d come off cold even if you were dating.”

Sid shot him a look, “That’s not why I agreed to it. I said no at first.”

Claude frowned, “Okay, so what changed?”

Sid shrugged. “Geno told the team that he was going to be a father. Fleury had his second kid and Duper’s family was always around the rink. I kinda wanted that.”

Claude snorted, “You can have that without going on a blind date. That stuff is awful.”

Sid sighed and busied himself with cutting up another apple. “It’s fine, I’m not going to be doing that again.”

“Oh. Good.”

Sid nodded, eyes on this hands. “It wouldn’t work. I’ve got all of these… things that would make it too hard to live with someone else. Too many routines and superstitions. It’s better this way.”

Claude was seriously taken aback at that. He blinked, unsure of what to say. “Sid, you’ve got to know how crazy that sounds.”

Sid shrugged. He’d set the apple slices down on the plate and was picking at one, still not looking at Claude. Claude flexed his fingers, unsure of whether or not he should reach out and touch Sid or just leave him alone. He knew by nature Sid didn’t seem to like being touched and didn’t want to stress him by risking a switch. Claude decidedly shoved his hands into his lap.

Sid cleared his throat. “So, do you want to go back to the hotel or stay here tonight?”

Claude blinked, “Oh, I thought I was going to stay here.”

Sid nodded, standing. “Okay, I’ll prepare the guest room.”

Claude stood abruptly, causing the chair to topple slightly, startling Sid. Claude tried to regain his composure. “Um, no need. I don’t want to be a burden.”

Sid blinked, “Oh. So… are you going to go back to the hotel after all?”

“No,” Claude said, maybe too quickly. “No, I can just sleep in your bed. That’s what we’ve been doing, right? Sharing a bed?”

Sid looked confused, “But we didn’t switch.”

Claude struggled, “But what if we do in the night? I’d rather not be across the house if that happens.”

“Or just a room over? Come on, Claude. We have to be touching for that to happen. Let’s not tempt whatever is making this happen for no reason.”

Claude swallowed. “Sid, I’d rather be in the same room as you.”

Sid gave Claude a hard look, thinking it over. Finally, he nodded. Claude resisted the urge to let out a sigh of relief and allowed himself be guided to the bathroom despite already knowing where it was. Sid left him there to go lock up the house.

He couldn’t place the feeling that filled him as he stared at his reflection in the mirror of Sid’s bathroom. He’d never been in Sid’s house while in his own body, and he couldn’t help but feel out of place. He brushed his teeth quickly, trying not to make eye contact with himself in the mirror.

He passed Sid as he left the bathroom and made his way to the bedroom. He stripped quickly to his underwear and t-shirt. That’s when Sid walked into the room, flicking the lights off as he went and climbed onto the right side of the bed.

Claude blinked, staring at him. He slept on the right side of the bed, that was his place. He couldn’t sleep on a good night and he definitely couldn’t sleep on a bad night if he wasn’t in his spot.

Sid seemed to sense that something was wrong because he sighed and rolled over until he was nestled into the left side of the bed.

Claude smiled and climbed into his spot. He rolled over a couple of times, trying to get comfortable. Sid sighed again. “Can you please stop?”

“You should be taking notes, Sid. This’ll help you for next time.” Claude said, closing his eyes.

“Whatever you say,” Sid said, yawning. If Sid was tired, Claude had only a few minutes before he lost his bedmate.

Claude rolled over again, facing Sid. He was disappointed to see that Sid had his back to him. “You didn’t want to wear the sleep shirt I left you last time? Rude.”

Sid snorted, “I don’t know what happened to that thing. Destroyed, probably.”

“Don’t lie, you know exactly where it is.”

Sid sighed, “Second drawer of the short dresser, at the bottom of the pile on the far left.”

Claude smiled, “Goodnight Sid.”

“Goodnight Giroux.”

That night they did not switch. Claude took a cab back to the hotel and was excessively early to board the bus thanks to all four of the alarms Sid had set for him.

______________________________________________

Claude was buzzing with energy. It was the second to last game of the season, and it was a must win to be able to maintain their playoff spot. They were in Philadelphia tonight, meaning they had the extra support of their fans behind them.

The team had gotten to the arena extra early in preparation for the game that night.

He had just gotten into his workout gear when he received the text.

Sidney Crosby 3:27pm  
I’m a healthy scratch tonight, so we don’t have to worry about switching

Claude frowned down at the text, trying to sort out how he felt about that. He tentatively typed out a message.

Claude 3:27pm  
_That’s good news_

Sidney Crosby 3:27pm  
_Yeah, so now you guys actually have a chance ☺_

Claude snorted, whatever he had been feeling a moment ago disappearing.

Claude 3:27pm  
_More like you guys now have a chance_

Claude 3:28pm  
_Your team doesn’t have to worry about carrying your lazy ass_

Sidney Crosby 3:28pm  
_haha._

Claude 3:28pm  
_It’s heavy too. I would know_

Sidney Crosby 3:28pm  
_Good to know you’re taking this seriously._

Claude 3:28pm  
_Of course I am_

Claude 3:28pm  
_Okay, well I guess this is goodbye._

Sidney Crosby 3:28pm  
_I guess so._

Sidney Crosby 3:28pm  
_Good luck, I’ll be upstairs watching._

Claude smiled down at his phone, closing it. Sometimes he wished he could tell people about this whole body switching thing. His team would fucking flip if they found out that Sidney Crosby himself was wishing Claude luck before playing his team.

Of course he could never tell them. He tucked the phone into his jacket pocket and jogged over to where his team was gathering to start a little dry land warm up.

This was going to be a good game.

He was right too. They ended up winning 3-1. His team piled up around him. They’d done it. They’d made the playoffs. He wondered idly if Sid was still watching. He wondered if Sid was pleased about it.

______________________________________________

The last thing Claude remembered was that he had been in his living room, the Stanley Cup Playoffs acting as background noise on the TV. Their team had long since been eliminated, but Claude had kept watching, following the Pens’ status along the way. Now they were competing in a game for the Cup itself.

Everything had been going fine. Schenn was giving him shit for standing up, as per usual. His hips hurt after the surgery, and he technically wasn’t supposed to be walking around too much, but he had his forearm crutches on so he didn’t see what the problem was.

That’s when he'd fainted. He dimly heard Brayden calling his name as he fell.

When he came too, he was slumped against a solid body, being pulled into a deep hug. The person hugging him didn’t even notice that he’d passed out, easily supporting his weight. When he righted himself, he was staring up at Pascal Dupuis.

He blinked, surprised.

Duper patted him hard on the shoulder, a huge grin on his face. He skated off to find another teammate.

Claude took in his surroundings. Pens players everywhere, skating, celebrating.

Fuck.

He looked down to see himself in Pens gear. He shifted his hips experimentally. No pain, except for the ache of muscles after a hard workout.

This was Sid’s body.

Oh fuck.

He couldn’t be here, this wasn’t allowed to happen. It’d been so long since their last switch, and it had never been without being on the ice, touching in some way. This couldn’t be possible.

Suddenly he was being corralled into a large crowd, into a flurry of hugs and handshakes. He put on the best smile that he could muster under the circumstances and allowed himself to be swept up in the formalities that were associated with winning the Stanley Cup.

The Stanley Cup. Shit, Sid had probably been walked through all of the proceedings for the evening. Claude had never won the cup before. He didn’t think he was even allowed to touch it, having never earned the right. God, especially as a Flyer. This felt like a lie and a betrayal.

He reminded himself of all the cameras in the rink and kept up a smile, hoping it looked genuine. The other part of his energy was spent reaching out to Sid whatever way he could if that was even possible.

His mind was screaming and reeling, trying to find a way to get back into his body in time.

Someone slipped a cap onto his head and a towel over his shoulder. He stumbled through an interview and tired chalking up his disjointedness for excitement and speechlessness after winning the cup. It must have worked because he was released back to his team moments later.

The lights dimmed slightly. Gary Bettman arrived and the crowded started booing. Claude was pushed to the front of the group. He swallowed. He looked around. There was still so many fans in the building, all cheering or booing as the commissioner tried to speak.

Claude felt stupid, but he was trying to reach out mentally to Sid in some way. If it was only their minds switching, there had to be a way, right? Or did they just change back when they were ready? What did that even mean? Claude didn’t really care, he just tried anyways. It was exhausting.

“… to Sidney Crosby!”

Claude was jerked out of his daze by the loud cheering that had erupted around him by Pens players. He blinked and was pushed forwards, towards where a red carpet and platform was rolled out onto the ice.

Claude smiled and forced himself forwards. This was okay, it wasn’t the cup. He stepped up and accepted the Conn Smythe trophy with a smile, exchanging pleasantries with Gary Bettman. After the picture was taken, he stepped off the mat and lifted the trophy up in recognition. The crowd went crazy.

Claude smiled as he skated through the Pens players. Despite his discomfort at being here during such a big moment in Sid’s career, he was somewhat pleased to find that being surrounded by Pens was no longer as upsetting as it had been when he’d first switched.

Phil Kessel thumped him on the back, “Congrats, Cap.”

Claude tried a smile. “Thanks.” He struggled to remember what the announcer had said during these games about the Conn Smythe trophy. A tie? A close race? “I wish it would have gone to you, though.” Claude tried.

Phil smiled, “You earned it.”

“And you just earned your first cup. Long overdue.” Claude was surprised to find he really meant it.

Phil beamed, glancing back at the area where, in just moments, the cup would sit.

Claude skated over to the bench and handed over the trophy. Fleury was there, a sad smile on his face. Part of him wanted to try to reach out to Sid again, but the other part was reminded of Sid’s captainly duties to the Pens. He wrapped an arm around Fleury’s shoulders and skated him back over to the crowd.

He smiled, “We did it, Flower.” He said, the nickname coming out with ease.

Fleury still looked a little sad. He was glancing over at Murray, who was celebrating with some of the younger players. “I just wish I could have done more this year.”

Claude patted him on the back. “I know. But you did so much more than you think you did.” He said. “I’m very proud of you,” he added in French.

Fleury rolled his eyes at Claude’s use of the language but seemed pleased. “Go on mon capitiane, you have a cup to accept.”

Claude’s throat tightened. He turned and, sure enough, they were carrying the Stanley Cup out on the ice. He swallowed and skated forwards.

 _I’m sorry, Sid_. He thought, making one final push at switching bodies again. Nothing was working. The crowd was roaring around him. He could barely hear what was happening.

Finally, they called him to come over and accept the cup. He sucked in a deep breath and skated forwards. He felt unworthy. No, he _was_ unworthy. He felt like shit.

Claude stepped onto the mat for the second time that night. He swallowed. If he couldn’t get Sid back into his body, then he would focused on making this a moment Sid would be proud to watch later even if he couldn’t be part of it.

His fingers tingled. He was so close now. Gary Bettman was smiling at him, nodding encouragingly. Claude sucked in a breath and reached out, the cup within grasp.

______________________________________________

“Fuck. Fuck, no!” he yelled, waking up on the living room floor, pain shooting through his body.

Brayden was looking down at him in concern, hovering with an ice pack. Sid was completely ignoring him, eyes fixed in horror to the television. He tried to push himself up, but Brayden physically held him down, laying the ice pack on Sid’s hip. He hissed.

“Hold still, Claude.” Brayden said gently. Sid wanted to snap at him, but reminded himself that it wasn’t Schenn’s fault. He also tried to remind himself that it wasn’t Claude’s fault either, but that proved more difficult. He felt extremely bitter as he was forced to watch himself lift the cup through a screen, miles away.

It was awful, like forgetting the most important moment of his life. The worst part was that this was happening right now and he could have been a part of it. Sid gritted his teeth.

Brayden crouched down, looking concerned. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head? Should I call an ambulance?”

“Just leave me alone.”

“But—“

“Fuck, just go away!” Sid growled, shooting Schenn a murderous look.

Brayden looked taken aback. He blinked, then stood. He hesitated, “I’m going to be in the other room. Call if you need.”

Sid said nothing. His eyes were fixed to the TV bitterly.

Claude was doing a victory lap with the cup held high over his head in Sid’s body. There was a huge smile pasted on his face, but when Sid looked closer, he could see something else there. Something he couldn’t quite identify. Maybe… remorse?

Sid felt his throat constrict and tear sting his eyes. He pushed himself up off the floor gingerly, gritting his teeth against the pain, and gently lowered himself onto the couch, angling himself so that he was closer to the TV. It was time for Claude to hand off the cup.

“Give it to Duper,” Sid breathed. Please, just give it to Duper.

He clenched his fist in frustration as it was handed to Daley. It wasn’t that Daley didn’t deserve it, but Pascal had been one of his oldest friends on the team. He would probably have even been expecting to receive it second.

There had been a second long look of confusion on Claude’s face before the hand of, but it was quickly replaced by a smile. Probably a response to the one that split across Daley’s face as he was handed the cup.

Having completed his duties, Claude slipped into the crowd of Pens players, getting pats on the back from everyone in range. The camera panned away from him, but not before Sid caught the look of sadness that flashed across Claude’s face.

Sid swallowed. This wasn’t Claude’s fault, he told himself again. Claude hadn’t planned this. It had just happened.

That didn’t help the pain he felt at missing this moment. Sid clenched and unclenched his fist. He brought it down on the side table, sending the lamp that had been balancing on it crashing to the floor.

Brayden raced into the room. He sighed when he looked at the mess. Sid regretted it immediately.

“I’m sorry,” Sid said.

Brayden sucked in a deep breath. He went to work picking up all of the pieces. “I know you hate the Pens and all, but don’t you think this is going too far?” he asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Sid couldn’t help but smile bitterly at that. He glanced at the TV, watching the cup get passed around to the coaches now. The camera caught Claude a couple of times. He was responding and smiling whenever teammates interacted with him, but on the odd times when he was alone, it looked almost like he was meditating. Sid smiled, shaking his head sadly. He highly doubted Claude wanted this anymore than he did.

He closed his eyes and leaned back on the couch. Brayden was grumbling at his side, and Sid tried to block it out.

Sid felt himself sway. Suddenly he was slumping onto his side, slipping into unconsciousness.

_____________________________________________

He was being guided to his knees, Geno pushing up flush against him. Sid blinked in surprise, looking around. His team was surrounding him. Everyone was smiling, patting each other on the backs and shoulder.

Sid swallowed, not quite trusting himself or his surrounding just yet. The cup sat in front of him, inches away. Tears stung his eyes, but they were happy tears this time. He reached out, fingers shaking, not daring to get his hopes up.

The cup was cool under his touch. He bit back the little sob that threatened. Geno pulled him into a tight side hug, grinning down at him. Sid laughed, returning the smile easily now.  
  
He was here, in his body, with the cup sitting at his feet. He relaxed. It was going to be okay.

______________________________________________

Sid had done a healthy bit of celebrating with his team when the text message from Claude rolled in later that night.

Claude 12:07pm  
_Congratulations Sid. I’m so sorry_

Sid stared down at his phone, feeling a slight buzz from all of the champagne he’d had throughout the night. The party was still going on around him, his teammates celebrating and touching the cup, taking pictures. It felt amazing. Better than the first time, even.

Sidney Crosby 12:07pm  
_Not your fault. Everything is okay here_

Claude 12:07pm  
_Okay, good._

Claude 12:07pm  
_Um, do you want me to call you tomorrow so we can talk about it?_

Sid couldn’t help but smile, a warm feeling flooding his chest. Yeah, he’d definitely had too much to drink if he was getting excited at the idea of talking to Claude anytime soon.

Sidney Crosby 12:07pm  
_That sounds great. Tomorrow afternoon is fine_

Claude 12:07pm  
_Okay. And I mean it, congratulations_

Sid sighed. In this moment, he felt completely content.

Sidney Crosby 12:07pm  
_I know Claude. Thank you._

Sidney Crosby 12:07pm  
_We’ll talk tomorrow. Maybe we can plan a trip to my cottage this summer_

Claude 12:07pm  
_Fuck, you must be really drunk._

Sidney Crosby 12:07pm  
_Shut up. Btw, sorry about your lamp._

Claude 12:07pm  
_Yeah, Schenn is still grumbling about it. Have fun. Talk to you tomorrow._

Sid couldn’t help the stupid grin on his face. Fleury came over and wrapped one of his long arms around Sid’s shoulders, pulling him into a side hug. “I know that look. Never seen in on your face, thought.” He said with a sly smile.

His French accent reminded Sid of Claude, and a stupid pang of something hit him in the gut. He pushed Fleury away jokingly. “Stay out of everyone’s business, Flower.”

Fleury pouted but released Sid, easily throwing himself back into the celebration. Sid smiled and joined him. Tomorrow was still a while away. Tonight, he would celebrate with his team.


	5. Hips Don't Lie - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude get's an unexpected visitor.

Sid knocked on the door awkwardly before he could think better of it. He shifted from foot to foot, waiting. Maybe no one heard him and he could just leave now. No one would be the wiser, he could just slip away—

There was a thump from the other side, along with a loud curse. Some shuffling. Sid swallowed.

The door swung open. Claude stood there looking disheveled, blinking. He frowned, taking Sid in.

Sid smiled, but it felt strained. “Hello Claude.”

Claude pursed his lips. “Hello?” He paused, shaking his head slightly, “I don’t mean to be rude, but am I forgetting something here?”

Sid shifted again. “Um, no. I kind of just…” he put on his most hopeful face, “got on a plane?” God, this wasn’t going the way he had practiced.

Claude closed his eyes momentarily, sucking in a deep breath. “Come in. I feel like this conversation is going to require a drink.”

Sid smiled, following Claude into the apartment. Claude eyed the bag Sid was carrying but said nothing. Sid likewise said nothing about Claude’s limp and the crutches that were going unused in the corner of the room.

“Is anyone else home?” Sid asked, placing his bag neatly in the entryway before entering the kitchen.

Claude shook his head. “Just me. Beer?” he said, holding one out for Sid. Sid shook his head. Claude nodded, looking down at it hard, considering. With a clear effort, he put it back into the fridge. When Sid arched an eyebrow, Claude sighed. “I can’t with the medication I’m taking.”

Sid nodded. “How is the process going?”

Claude shrugged. He pulled some juice out of the fridge instead, taking out two glasses. Sid noticed it was the kind he liked, something that he had never seen before when looking through Claude’s fridge. When he asked Claude about it, Claude just shrugged. “I was craving it the other day.”

Sid tried not to smile and thanked Claude for the glass.

Claude sat gingerly, wincing all the while. “So,” he said, “you hopped on a plane.”

Sid sighed. “Yeah. Um, I got this feeling. So I got on a plane.”

“To come here.”

“Yes.”

Claude frowned. “What was this ‘feeling’? Because I didn’t feel anything.”

Sid cleared his throat, wondering how he should approach this. “It wasn’t like a... switching feeling. Just a kind of… I felt like…” He breathed out a huff of frustration. “I don’t know. I felt something and then I got on a plane. I felt like I needed to be here.”

“You missed me.”

Sid snorted and glanced up, looking across the counter at Claude, who was wearing a shit-eating smirk. One he’d seen many times across the face off circle.

“I did not.” He said indignantly.

Claude’s smile only grew. “You did. It’s okay, I would miss me too.”

Sid rolled his eyes, but smiled too. He was glad for the humour, he’d been more prepared to be met with scorn and mocking. “Yes, I missed you.”

Claude just shook his head, “You can just call next time like a normal person. Ghosty has been driving me crazy. It’s been us rehabbing together. He’s a whiner. Kinda like you, I’d imagine.”

The jab was light hearted, but Sid still felt a little dizzy from the exchange. _You can call me next time_. How could he tell Claude that he’d thought of it? Had stared at Claude’s number for hours, had written out a number of conversations that he wanted to have, but was afraid of starting? Mostly, he had been afraid of rejection. Instead he’d jumped on a plane like a coward, hoping Claude wouldn’t say no to someone who was already on his doorstep.

“I think you’re confusing me for someone else,” Sid said instead.

Claude’s expression turned to mild irritation, and he rubbed his hip gently, wincing. “I wonder what your ‘feeling’ was because I’ve mostly been feeling pain. I wonder if I felt it too, but didn’t really because I was thinking about the pain more.”

“Maybe,” Sid said weakly, highly doubting it. It was very likely that Sid’s feelings were one sided.

Claude hummed, “I’ve been thinking about this whole switching thing. It’s kind of fucked up. I feel like if it was happening often, we’d have heard about it, right?”

Sid shrugged, “Who knows. I’ve never heard of anything like this.”

Claude was looking thoughtful. “I want to know why. Then maybe we can stop it.”

“Huh. I guess that’d be great.”

“That way we don’t have to worry about dropping in on more important stuff without permission. Like your cup win.”

Sid barked out a laugh, “I almost forgot about that.”

Claude arched an eyebrow. “I don’t think I ever will. I had to touch the cup. If I never win a cup because of you, I’m coming back to haunt you.”

Sid smiled, propping his elbows on the table in front of him. “You didn’t touch it, you were at home, breaking a lamp.”

“A damn good lamp too.” Claude grumbled.

“I guess I still owe you for that.”

Claude snorted, “You can pay for dinner tonight. I assume you’re staying considering you jumped on a plane without a plan and with only an overnight bag?”

Sid’s face heated, “Oh no, I don’t want to bother you. I just wanted to… check in. Or something like that.”

“Mhm,” Claude said. “You can stay here. And pay for dinner.”

Sid smiled, “I can do that.”

Claude looked thoughtful, “Or help with my physio stuff. It’d be nice to have an extra pair of hands around here without having to listen to Ghosty complain.”

“I’d rather just pay for dinner.”

“Your choice.” Claude shook his head, “You’re even weirder than the media paints you out to be, and that’s saying something.” Claude moved away from the counter and began carefully making his way down the hall.

Sid jumped up and caught his elbow, but Claude waved him back. “Christ, Sid. I’m not your fucking Grandmother, I don’t need help.”

After that, Sid kept his distance. Claude sat himself gingerly on the couch. Sid sat in the armchair next to him. “Are you feeling better?” Sid asked when they had settled. “When I was in there, it hurt like hell.”

Claude snorted, “That’s because you thrashed my body around for a bit before climbing inside. Schenn told me I collapsed.” He shook his head, “I leave you alone for five minutes with my body and you give me another month of physio.”

Sid winced, “I’m sorry.”

Claude shot him a look. “Don’t be sorry, Sid. I was kidding. You had other things on your mind.”

“Still…”

“Stop. I’m actually kind of glad you’re here. I had some theories about all this.”

Sid perked up. “Oh?”

Claude straightened a bit. “I think it’s a mix of being stressed and being close. The first two times, it might have just been playing each other, then the risk of switching again. We were close, so it was easier. When you won the cup, you were under a lot of stress, so that’s why we were able to switch from further away.”

Sid frowned. “Oh. I guess that would make sense.”

Claude snorted, “Really? Because none of this really makes sense.”

Sid shrugged, frustrated. “Okay, yes. But it makes sense that it’s not just random. So if it is stress, why do we switch?”

Claude looked a little smug, “That’s as far as I’d gotten.”

Sid sunk back into the chair. “So you think we get stressed… and switch. And that somehow makes it better? We switch for comfort?”

“Maybe, or help.”

Sid thought about it. “Seems weird.”

“It is weird, have you not been paying attention?”

Sid smiled and looked over at Claude, expecting to see a similar grin. Instead, Claude was looking at him intensely. Almost searchingly.

Sid frowned, “What?”

Claude’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Don’t get me wrong Sid, this visit is nice and all, but I feel like you’re not telling me everything.”

Sid’s smile soured, but he tried to hold it. “Like I said, I just had—“

Claude sighed, “Yeah, a feeling. I know. Fine, we won’t talk about it.”

Sid’s smile slid from his face. He wanted to disappear. To have not come at all.

Claude didn’t seem pleased by his composure, but didn’t comment on Sid’s sulking. “Come on, let’s make use of you while you’re here. You’re helping me with my physio. I was just about to start when you rudely interrupted.”

Sid was about to sputter out more apologies, but Claude waved him off and stood, wincing again. Sid jumped up and Claude shot him a look. “I’m stiff, not dying.”

Sid watched him uncertainly, but Claude looked steady. “I didn’t bring any workout clothes.” Sid said half-heartedly.

“You can borrow something. Let’s go, Crosby.” Claude was already moving off down the hallway before Sid could protest.

Fifteen minutes later, they were both changed. Claude had given Sid a shirt that was definitely too small, but at least it didn’t have the Flyers’ logo on it. Sid had been bullied into moving all of the furniture in the living room so that Claude could lay uselessly on the plush carpet in the middle of the room. He watched smugly as Sid worked, complaining about his hip every time Sid accused him of being lazy.

As much as he tried, Sid couldn’t really feel annoyed.

Finally, Sid was crouched next to Claude, looking over the diagrams from the physiotherapist. Claude was talking him through some basic stretches that he was working on and which ones he would need help with.

Sid frowned, “Am I really the person to be helping you with this? I’m not a professional, you know. I could hurt you.”

Claude rolled his eyes and set the diagrams down between them. Sid jumped back slightly as Claude’s hand threatened to brush his leg. If Claude noticed, he didn’t say anything. Sid had been very careful to avoid touching Claude as much as possible since arriving.

“These are all exercises that I do by myself. There’s no way you can fuck them up.”

“Wow, I feel so much more reassured now, thanks.” Sid said flatly, watching as Claude laid himself down to begin his first exercise, a smile on his face.

Sid watched. Claude struggled a few times and Sid flexed his fingers, getting ready to help. He otherwise kept still, waiting to be asked before doing anything.

The exercises seemed basic for someone who was so deep into their recovery process, but the way Claude was struggling with them suggested that this was all for a reason. Sid thought about what Claude had said earlier, how Sid had spent only a few minutes in his body, but had added a month to his recovery. Maybe it had been worse than Claude had let on. Sid shrunk down more into his spot next to Claude, who was doing some deep stretches, laying on his back.

Claude looked over at him and grunted. He had his knee up in the air, bent at a ninety degree angle. He seemed to be supporting the position with this hands, cupping the back of his thigh.

Claude raised an eyebrow at him. “You just gunna to sit there?”

Sid tried a smile, “You look fine to me.”

Claude snorted, “I thought you’d be eager to get your hands on me. What are you afraid of?”

Sid laughed weakly, “Not everything is about you, you know.”

“You’re worried we’ll switch.” It wasn’t a question.

Sid just shrugged.

Claude was looking at him intensely. “You are, aren’t you?” He dropped his hands, letting his leg fall heavily back onto the carpet. “You idiot. If you’re that afraid, let’s just get it over with now—“

“—No!”

But it was too late. Even as Sid tried to pull back, Claude had already reached out, gripping Sid tightly by the wrist. Sid felt lightheaded, and he closed his eyes against it, swaying slightly.

When he opened his eyes, he paused. He was still looking down at Claude’s body.

Claude was smiling, clearly amused. “You’re such a drama queen.”

“I thought we’d change,” Sid said weakly.

Claude rolled his eyes. “I said earlier that I think we only change when we’re stressed. Is there something you’re not telling me? Maybe about this surprise visit?”

“No, of course not.”

Claude smirked and pulled his leg back into its previous position. “Excellent, then you can help me deepen this stretch. Put on hand on my calf, the other on the back of my thigh. We’re trying to get my knee to my chest.”

Sid sighed and shifted so that he was closer to Claude, “Yeah, okay.”

Claude frowned slightly, “And slowly, please. This isn’t a race, let’s take it easy.”

Sid couldn’t help but smile, “Yes Claude, I get it.”

Together, they slowly worked Claude’s knee down to his chest. This other leg seemed to be a little bit stiffer.

“Lower your hand a bit, Sid.”

Sid grunted in response and lowered the hand on the back of Claude’s thigh.

Claude let out a frustrated noise when it didn’t help. “Let’s go Sid, lower.”

Sid frowned, but slid his hand down. It was getting dangerously close to Claude’s ass. “This is as far as I can go, Claude.”

Claude near-growled. “Well it’s not good enough. More.”

“Claude, I’m not going to put my hand on your ass, no matter how much you want to get this stretch.”

“I’m not asking you to grab my ass, Crosby. I want you to help, let’s go.”

“I’m trying, let’s just try this one again later—“

“We are on exercise three right now. If we can’t get past this one, how are we going to get past the harder ones—“

“Don’t snap at me, I’m just trying to help—“

“So lower your stupid hand—“

"Hey! My hand isn’t stupid, your thigh is stupid—“

“My thigh! Are you serious—“

But Sid wasn’t listening anymore, because a wave of dizziness had fallen over him, making him sway. The room had grown quiet except for the sound of a thump as darkness rushed around him.

When he opened his eyes, he was staring up at the ceiling. He pushed himself up to see Claude doing the same, only this time Claude was wearing Sid’s body.

“You knew this would happen.” Sid accused darkly, rubbing at a dull pain that was making its way into his hip. Dammit, just what he needed on top of everything.

Claude smiled coyly, much to Sid’s annoyance. “I was hoping.”

“I hate you.”

Claude shrugged delicately in Sid’s body. Sid envied him. He always looked so confortable in Sid’s body, whereas Sid always had a tendency to feel awkward in Claude’s.

Sid sighed and looked down at himself, flexing his leg and hip muscles testingly. Not as bad as he’d thought, not as good at he’d hoped. “Why would you do that?”

Claude smiled and sat up. He pushed Sid back onto the carpet and took Sid’s leg gently, helping to extend it before pushing it back almost against Sid’s chest. “It was going to happen. I don’t like waiting.”

“Ow.” Sid said, annoyed as Claude deepened the stretch.

Claude looked smug. “It also gets me out of this part. I know how far I need to push my body, but it still hurts. This way, I can make sure my body does the stretch properly without feeling the pain.”

“You’re an ass.”

“And you showed up to my house during the offseason, clearly stressed out, without warning. Do you want to talk about that yet, or are we still pretending that’s not a thing?”

“It’s not a thing.”

“Well, I was going to go easy on you with the stretches, but now I think you don’t deserve it.”

Sid grunted, but let himself be manipulated in a new way as Claude worked him through a different stretch. Sid breathed heavily through it. Eventually, he closed his eyes. It was easier to focus on the physiotherapy aspect of it when he wasn’t staring up at his own body.

In a sense it was kind of relaxing. He’d always loved the exercises that came with injuries, having a set routine to follow to ensure that he got better and was healed. He hated being injured though, with that nagging thought of never being completely better again. There was something about knowing he was doing the stretches properly without the stress of the long-term injury that really appealed to him.

He probably should be watching as he did the stretches, but Claude never asked him to open his eyes, or teased him to pay attention. Claude’s usual accent was just strong enough to distract Sid from the fact that it wasn’t Claude’s real voice, almost making him forget they had switched. With his eyes closed, he could almost let himself forget that they hadn’t only been brought together by this weird thing, that maybe they could have been friends even if they’d never switched.

He bit back a yelp as Claude pushed him into a particularly painful position. Sid expected a sarcastic response, but only got a murmured apology. He opened his eyes.

Claude had his head ducked—Sid’s head technically—and was crouched low over Sid’s right leg. Sid watched him.

Claude pulled Sid’s leg back straight again and laid it carefully on the floor. He gently ran a hand over Sid’s knee, then up his thigh. The movement caused a shock of feelings to flood Sid. He jerked up, looking at Claude with what could have only have been a startled expression.

Claude chuckled, “Relax Sid. I’m just trying to loosen the muscles a bit.”

Sid grunted out an incoherent response, hoping it would pass as a suitable answer. Slowly, he leaned back onto the floor. Claude shifted, dipping out of his line of sight for a moment. Sid held his breath, as if breathing might disturb the odd mood that had fallen over the room.

Claude reappeared with a pillow, which he offered to Sid. Sid thanked him and tucked it under his head.

Claude’s fingers worked confidently across his hips and over his thighs, not hesitating in their work. He massaged the stiff muscles without talking, eyes focused on his work.

Sid wasn’t sure what he should be doing, but he could barely breath. Claude’s hands were appropriate and non-teasing, serious in their work. Sid couldn’t figure out why he was having a hard time sitting through this. It felt fucking amazing, but he couldn’t help his fidgeting.

If Claude noticed, he said nothing, just kept up his work, kneading into the tight muscle. Eventually, Sid relaxed.

Claude cleared his throat. Sid waited. There was only silence.

“I get the cup this weekend.” Sid said, more into the air than to Claude, his eyes trained on the ceiling.

“I heard,” Claude said lightly.

Sid swallowed. “My hometown is supposed to be doing this whole big thing.”

Claude hummed, “Sounds nice.”

“Maybe.”

“You’re not thinking about that though, are you?”

Sid shrugged, still looking up at the ceiling. “Not really. There’s all this talk about Flower getting traded.”

Claude’s hands stopped and Sid tried not to protest. Claude shifted so that he was sitting cross-legged, causing Sid to tilt his head to get a better look at him. “Ah.”

“Yeah.” Sid's mouth felt dry. His heart was beating a little faster and he wanted to ask Claude to continue with the massage, but he refrained.

There was silence. Then, “So that’s why you hopped on a plane over here, isn’t it?”

Sid barked out a laugh, the tension breaking. “No.”

“Looking for some wisdom from someone wiser. Don’t lie.”

Sid smiled, “If I say yes, will it just inflate your ego?”

“Wouldn’t hurt. I just gave you my favorite rub down, you should be thanking me.”

Sid hummed, “It was alright.”

“That’s all I get? Ungrateful.”

Sid smiled again.

Claude flexed his hands, looking down across Sid’s body. _Claude’s body_ , Sid had to remind himself.

“I get it, it’s trade season. Players get traded.” Claude said finally.

“Not Flower.” Sid grumbled.

Claude smiled, “Even Flower. Even you one day—“

“—No.” Sid bit out.

Claude ignored him and pushed on, “My point is that there’s nothing you can do about it. You’ll still be friends. I still talk to Danny.”

“It’s not the same,” Sid grumbled. Some part of him realized that he was being stubborn, but he didn’t care.

Claude shrugged, “But at least we still talk. You can’t control the trade but you can control what comes after.”

Sid propped himself up onto his elbows so he could get a better look at Claude. “But—“

“Sid, I get it. “ Claude looked tired, his face serious. “He’s been there since the beginning. He helped you win the cup the first time and he was there for you the second. You’ve got all of your weird superstitions and rituals, and he’s a part of them. You sit next to him on the plane to every away game. He keeps you relaxed and having fun. He notices things.” Claude looked a little shaken. “I get it.” He repeated.

Sid swallowed. Claude was right. Hockey had always been his first love, but there was always this seriousness that made him feel heavy. He loved the sport, respected it, played his best but was often booed for it. It didn’t matter if he played well and was respectful, people always hated him. There was so much pressure, and when he was drafted he was both excited and scared. Flower had helped make hockey fun again, make it not as serious. He’d been there from the start. Now there was a threat of loosing that, just like he was loosing Duper, just like he’d lost Talbot. All of the people who had made the sport fun for him again.

Claude had been one of the people who had hated him. Hell, Sid had loved to hate Claude too. Now he sat by Sid’s side as they both worked through this weird shit together. That was part of the reason why Sid had flown out to Philadelphia. He _had_ kinda missed Claude.

“It’s always hard, but you’ll be okay.” Claude said in a low voice.

Sid sighed. Okay, he'd definitely missed Claude. “I know.”

“Next time you can just call to talk about this.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Much better than showing up at my doorstep in distress.”

“I’m not in distress.”

“Who’s body are you in again?”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” Claude’s voice was light, but there was a hard underlying level of truth to what he said. Sid didn’t hate him. He hadn’t hated Claude for a long time.

“You ready to change back yet?” Claude asked, breaking him from his thoughts.

Sid snorted, “If only it were that simple.”

“It probably is. You’re just overthinking it, like usual.”

“If it’s so easy, you do it.”

Claude snorted, “Then you wouldn’t have learned anything.”

Sid shot him a look, “If I find out it was you making this happen all along, I will seriously kill you.”

Claude smiled, “You’ll never know.” He sighed and pushed himself up to his feet and offered a hand to Sid, who took it. Together, they gently worked him to his feet.

“How about I get you something to drink, then we can talk about what you’re going to be ordering me for dinner.” Claude called back to him as he headed towards the kitchen.

Sid smiled, then thought about the juice in Claude’s fridge. Sid’s favourite kind of juice, a type that Claude had never really been partial to in the past. Kind of like how Sid kept finding himself reaching for the grilled cheese stuff that wasn’t part of his meal plan, but couldn’t quite bring himself to throw it out.

His smile faltered for a second, then he pushed forwards. He didn’t voice any of the fears he had about the affect that spending so much time in each other’s bodies would have on their minds.

When he got to the kitchen, Claude held out a glass of the juice for him, an easy smile on his face. Sid watched him carefully. He wondered if Claude felt himself being drawn to Sid the way Sid was drawn to Claude.

But it had been Sid who’d flown across state to see him, not the other way around. Their friendship was still growing, he tried to tell himself. Another part of him felt a little sad.

It must have shown on Sid’s face because Claude frowned. “What’s up?”

“Come visit me at my cottage this summer.” Sid blurted out before he could stop himself.

Claude looked a little taken aback, then smiled. “Are you just saying that because I’m letting you stay the night?”

Sid snorted, “Far from it. Just… why not? We can do some tests, try stuff out. Enjoy the weather. It could be fun.”

A slow smile made its way across Claude’s face, “It could.” he said slowly, almost testingly. 

Sid cocked his head, “So is that a yes?”

Claude spun his glass around in his hands for a few seconds. He looked up at Sid. “You don’t think we’ll kill each other? Hanging out on purpose, not just during these crazy switches?” He asked, gesturing between them.

Sid tried not to snort. “I promise I won’t try to kill you.”

Claude thought about it a second longer, then nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Sid couldn’t help but grin, “Alright then, it’s a date.”

Claude rolled his eyes but said nothing.

The heavy feeling in Sid's chest lifted as he settled in. Switched body or not, Sid was going to enjoy the rest of their day together.


	6. Hips Don't Lie - Part 2

Claude wasn’t sure if Sid had heard the taxi roll up or not, but no one came out to greet him when he arrived. He paid the driver and unloaded his things onto the front step, following the faint sounds of music through a thin path into the forest, praying he was at the right place.

When the path opened up again, Claude had to pause.

He was staring out onto a beautiful lakefront. The thick forest gave the space the perfect amount of privacy, opening up to show off a dock that stretched out into the water, which was the most bizarre shade of perfect blue. The sun shone overhead, and there was only the lightest of breezes. Time seemed to stand still, perfect and picturesque. Claude briefly wondered if this was all real.

“Claude?” someone called from his right, pulling him out of his daze. He looked over to see a very tan Sid coming towards him, a huge smile on his face. This was a much more relaxed version of the person who Claude had seen just a couple weeks ago in his apartment in Philadelphia.

Claude smiled, pulling Sid in for an easy hug.

When he pulled back, he noticed something flash across Sid’s face. Disbelief maybe? Relief? Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone. Sid smiled, “How was the flight over?”

Claude chuckled, matching Sid’s pace as they rounded the cottage. “Good. There’s all sorts of signs around here with your name on it. I had to pull my cap down just a little further when I got into the cap.”

“Pens fan?” Sid asked with a smile.

Claude groaned, remembering the taxi’s dashboard, completely covered in Pens stuff.

Sid laughed, “That bad? Well, you survived.”

“Barely,” Claude grumbled, but it was good-natured. He had expected it given all of the hype surrounding the famous birthplace of Sid the Kid.

Sid showed Claude the guest room, just down the hall from his own room. Claude dropped his weekend bag onto the bed and joined Sid for a tour of the cottage.

It was surprisingly modest. The most impressive part of it was the property with the lakefront, the beautiful sprawling dock that reached out into the lake and the reliable boat that was neatly tied to the side of it. The cottage itself looked like any one of those that he’d visited as a child. Rustic, cottage-y. Nothing about it screamed Stanley Cup Champion, but Claude had never seen Sid look more comfortable.

They ended up on the back porch with a beer in hand, trying to talk about anything but hockey. No one had outright said that they shouldn’t, but it seemed to be an unspoken rule that they were both abiding by.

Had Sid been home to see his parents? Yes. Claude wanted to ask if Sid had enjoyed the parade that had been held and his day with the cup, but that was hockey related talk.

Sid politely asked about Claude’s hips and Claude could only take a large sip of his beer and inform Sid that they were better.

They discussed training without really bringing up what it was for, as if they were just two people who enjoyed a good workout, but that was also a subject that brushed too close to hockey.

Claude began peeling at the label of his beer bottle as the conversation threatened to flatten out, searching for something to say.

Sid saved him having to say anything, smiling again. “Do we want to do weird switching stuff now or later?”

Claude bit out a laugh, “Later. Always later.”

Sid nodded, “Then go put on your bathing suit. I’ll show you around the lake a bit.”

It was easy after that. Claude couldn’t really believe that he was actually at Sid’s cottage, but they next thing he knew he was in a boat with Sid, exploring the lake.

From the boat, everything seemed to look the same, but Sid guided them around expertly, knowing everything inside and out.

Claude spent the afternoon being guided around, with Sid showing him all of the secrets. They went swimming in the middle of the lake, in a spot that Sid explained was wildly deep because it had been dough out to be used as a canal a long time ago. They stopped at a small beach that Sid claimed no one knew about, despite there being picnic tables set up along the water’s edge, and drove past people who were cliff diving.

When Claude asked if Sid had tried that before, Sid just laughed, a mischievous smile brightening his face. He looked completely at ease, hat backwards, shirtless and skin just beginning to get pink from too much sun on his shoulders and on the back of his neck.

They pulled into a small marina and docked the boat. When Claude had tried to help, Sid had snapped at him to get his hands away from the dock. Claude was going to say something smart, when he turned to see a teasing smile on Sid’s face. Before Claude could blink, Sid was out of the boat, tying it up.

When Claude tried to climb out, Sid shook his head. Claude frowned, “What, you’re just going to leave me here?”

Sid smiled, “No, I just need you to toss me my shirt. You’ll need yours too if you want ice cream.”

Claude snorted, but handed Sid his shirt regardless. “Is that a real rule?”

Sid nodded.

Claude pouted and grabbed his own, “They must lose a lot of business with shitty rules like that.”

Sid rolled his eyes and extended a hand for Claude to take, pulling the boat closer to the dock so it was easier for Claude to climb out.

They walked around the small town a bit. Everyone clearly knew who Sid was but no one stopped him. Most waved politely in an easy, familiar way and Sid usually returned the greeting.

At the ice cream store, the girl working behind the counter seemed the recognize Sid and asked him if he wanted the usual. Sid smiled and nodded.

“Any chance that this ice cream is included in your mean plan?” Claude asked as Sid’s ice cream was being scooped out in front of them.

Sid’s answering smile told Claude everything he needed to know.

Claude wasn’t sure who started it, but he noticed it first when Sid’s fingers, cold from the extreme air conditioning of the ice cream parlor, touched his elbow lightly, grabbing his attention to suggest an ice cream flavor.

It only became more obvious after that. A gentle push on Claude’s hip to guide him in a new direction, a pull on his shirt to make him stop to look at something new, fingers on his back to push him ahead so others could pass beside them.

People around the lakeside town barely spared them a passing glance, but it felt like everyone had eyes on them in those small moments. Claude didn’t dare mention it though, afraid that bringing Sid’s attention to would make him stop. He wondered if Sid even noticed he was doing it.

The weather was surprisingly hot. From what Claude had heard, he’d expected a much milder climate from the area. They ended up passing a little overpriced boutique where Claude bought a hat that was dotted with palm trees, something that Sid had rolled his eyes at, just fueling Claude’s desire to buy it. It was a little boxy, frat boyish, but it was one of the only hats he now owned without the Flyers’ logo plasters across it. Claude wore it proudly around town for the rest of the afternoon.

When they got back to the boat, Claude climbed in and began working at the knot, freeing the boat from the dock. When Sid crouched down, Claude assumed it was to help him with the knot, but Sid didn’t move. Claude looked up to make a sarcastic remark, taunting him into helping, when he saw the intense, searching look on Sid’s face. Claude froze, brows slightly furrowed in confusion.

Sid reached down, fingers sure as they pinched the brim of his hat, spinning it around on his head. Claude felt his hair being spun out of place but bit back the sarcastic remark he was going to make.

“So the wind doesn’t blow it off,” Sid said gently. Then he pushed himself up, going to work on the knot that was attaching the stern of the boat. His work was quickly done and Claude was still scrambling to undo his own as Sid stepped into the boat, pushing it off the dock as he did so. Within seconds the small town was disappearing behind them.

Claude’s hat stayed securely on his head.

Later that night, Claude exchanged his t-shirt for something warmer as the sun went down and the darkness brought the type of cold he’d been expecting.

They still went outside, sitting on the back deck by the house, looking out over the lake. The moon reflected brightly off it.

“Is now a good time to do switching stuff?” Sid asked finally, just one more thing that they’d been avoiding throughout the day after putting it off earlier.

Claude huffed, slouching down lower into his adirondack chair. “A little late, don’t you think?”

Sid shrugged, eyes carefully off Claude, into the distance. “Might as well get it out of the way. Besides, that was the reason why we planned this weekend, right?”

That stung a bit, but Claude tried to push it down. It had been the reason they’d planned this weekend. Silently, he rolled up his sleeve and offered his hand to Sid, waiting.

Sid hesitated only for a moment, before reaching over and grasping Claude’s bare forearm. Claude closed his eyes, waiting for something to happen. Nothing did, but that was honestly to be expected. Nothing had happened all day when Sid had touched him. After a day of hanging out, they were both too relaxed to switch.

When Claude told him as much, Sid’s hand still on his forearm all the while, Sid laughed and gripped a little tighter, slipping his hand a little closer to Claude’s elbow, as if that would help.

“So you really think it’s caused by stress?” Sid said, finally letting his fingers fall from Claude’s arm.

Claude stared at the place where his skin was still warm from Sid’s touch. “Yeah, I think so. I guess this kind of proves it.”

Sid hummed. After, the conversation turned to other things. They no longer avoided the subject of hockey. Sid talked openly about how happy he was that Fleury hadn’t been traded, and of his day with the cup. Claude talked about his progress on the ice. They shared an excitement for getting back on the ice in a competitive nature at the World Cup of Hockey, laughing at the prospect of being on the same team again.

Eventually the mosquitos chased them inside as the coils died out and darkness swamped their vision.

That night, after all of the doors had been locked and the lights turned off, they each retreated to their respective rooms. Claude tossed and turned for a while, thinking about how odd it was that though they were sharing a house for the evening, they weren’t sharing a bed like they usually did.

Claude eyed the hat from across the room after being kept awake by seemingly nothing for what felt like hours and felt a sense of comfort. After that, it was only a matter of minutes before he was out cold.

_________________________________________________

The next morning, he was awoken to the smell of burning. Not a kind of burning that drive panic into you, but the kind that made him forgo changing before wandering into the kitchen, barefoot in only his boxers.

Sid was cooking. Although, saying he was cooking was being generous. Sid looked alarmed, staring down at a pan where bacon was blackening.

He looked up as Claude made his way over to him, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Sid smiled sheepishly, shrugging as if in defeat. Claude looked over the situation, deciding not to involve himself, going for the coffee instead. He eyed it skeptically but it turned out to be really good. Sid's problem turned out to be minimal. He had simply forgotten to scrape the bottom of the pan clean between batches of bacon and the bits that were stuck to the bottom had started burning.

Sid had salvaged all he could onto a plate and put the pan aside to be cleaned later.

Together they made eggs and toast—which Claude did not allow to burn—and ate on the back porch. Now that Claude had woken up a bit, he could see that it was another beautiful day outside, if not a little bit late because of how long they had both slept.

“Any plans for today, Captain?” Claude asked. He liked calling Sid that, watching him flush and sputter slightly under the title, the very same one that Claude also held.

Sid checked his watch and shrugged, “We can do anything. I want to try out switching stuff today, for real this time, but that can wait till later.”

Claude nodded and looked down towards the lake. “Then I want to go swimming today.”

Sid smiled, “We can do that.”

They cleared the table and dumped everything into the sink and filled it, claiming that it would get done by someone later after everything had “soaked”. They both knew it was code for “I don’t want to do it” but pushed on anyways.

They changed and headed down to the water. Sid apologized for not having a walk-in waterfront, but Claude was unbothered by the lack of beach. Off the dock was a 10ft drop, which Sid claimed was deep enough for them to dive into.

Claude had never hated lakes, but he preferred swimming pools any day. He was unnerved by the way the seaweed would seemingly wrap around his ankle and the fish that would brush against his legs, even by the boats that tore through this part of the lake. Sid laughed at him when, less than an hour after starting, he was finished.

Claude laid his towel down at the very edge of the dock so he could watch Sid swim some more, flipping his hat around to stretch out onto his stomach.

Sid swam over and gripped the edge of the dock, propping himself up on folded arms to dangle half in and half out of the water. Claude closed his eyes, letting the feeling of the sun on his back warm him.

A pleasant silence filled the space. Even the birds and insects seemed to quiet around them. When Claude opened his eyes, Sid was staring up at him from the water. Claude cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Why did you agree to meet me here?” Sid asked.

The question caught Claude off guard, reminding him of something that Sid had said last night. Something about how Claude was here so they could try and figure out the reason for switching. He also remembered how the comment had stung.

“You invited me here to work on switching..." Claude answered carefully, "So I came.”

Sid looked like he was thinking Claude's response over. “That’s not the only reason, right? I mean, just over a year ago we hated each other.”

Claude laughed, “I still hate you.”

Sid gave him a pointed look, “Then you wouldn’t be here, hanging out like this. Even guys on my own team haven’t been here. But you’re here,” Sid waved his hand around, gesturing to their surroundings, “in my space.”

The comment rubbed Claude the wrong way. He propped himself onto his elbows, getting some added height over Sid, who was still hanging of the dock, and pushed some stray hairs out of his eyes. “What are you trying to say Sid? Because I have no idea.”

Sid looked frustrated, “I’m trying to figure out what you want from all of this.”

“All of what? I thought we were getting along. What I want is to be fully in control of my body, but it seems that can’t happen, so I’ll take the second best thing.”

Claude felt about as frustrated as Sid looked, but suddenly Sid’s expression changed. He reached out, fingers brushing Claude’s forearm gently.

An overwhelming sense of dizziness filled Claude, then, suddenly, he couldn’t breath.

Everything was murky and he felt lightheaded, disoriented. He tried to suck in a breath but found he couldn’t. His body began to burn and the sudden realization hit him that he must be drowning.

An intense pressure filled his head as he fought to get out but found that he couldn’t. Something else seemed to be trying to push it’s way in as much as he was trying to force his way out.

An afterthought flooded his mind that this must be Sid’s body, and that he should be fighting harder to try to save them, but the fight had mostly left his body. The effect of the switch had put him at too much of a disadvantage already, already used up too much time and air.

Suddenly, there were hands on him, pulling him upwards. As soon as he broke the surface, he began coughing up water.

Sid was hanging off the dock above him, gripping him bruisingly tight, a terrified expression clear across his face. Or more so, Claude’s face. They had definitely switched, the source of this whole drowning experience.

“Claude? Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

But Claude was still coughing up water and couldn’t answer. Before he could protest, Sid was crouching, gripping him under his arms and dragging him up onto the dock. The wood scraped against his bare skin, stinging. Sid dropped him heavily onto the dock, and pulled him up into a sitting position.

A towel was draped across his shoulders, and he sucked in a couple of full breaths. Someone was rubbing soothing circles into his back. Claude looked up to see Sid, who was surprisingly trying to fight a grin.

Claude frowned at him, making Sid laugh. He took the awful hat off his head and slipped it onto Claude’s. Sid patted him heavily on the back and sat down beside him. “You’re fucking heavy.”

Claude sputtered out a laugh, “I’m heavy? This is your body. Are we going to just ignore the fact that I almost died?”

Sid shook his head, “I almost died. You were clawing at my brain. It fucking hurt.”

Claude blinked, “What?”

Sid pulled up his knees, resting his forearms across them. “I don’t know what you did, but it hurt like hell. I just felt… panic. But not my panic. It was your panic.”

“Yeah, I was drowning Sid. I’m going to panic.”

Sid laughed, “But I felt it. We’ve never felt anything else from you before. Plus I felt concern for me. It was cute.”

Claude flushed and readjusting his cap, pulling it over his eyes briefly, hopefully hiding the expression from Sid. “I thought you were going to get us killed.” Claude grumbled.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. You touched me, it was your fault.”

Sid sighed heavily, but it was clear he was riding off some kind of adrenaline rush high now that the situation had passed. Claude felt his blood racing as well, but maybe it was just from having Sid so close. Close enough to knock shoulders, just to feel his skin. Claude wanted to try, but at the same time didn’t.

Sid stood suddenly, reaching down to offer a hand to Claude. “Ready to change back?” Sid asked.

Claude barked out a laugh, “If only it worked like that.”

Sid shrugged, “Well at least let me help you up. You should change or I’m going to catch a cold later.”

Claude smiled and grasped Sid’s hand tightly, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. They didn’t switch back, but at least Sid was right. He was starting to shiver as clouds covered the sun up above.

Claude let Sid fuss over him, bringing him inside, helping him change. He finally found himself being pushed into a plush chair in the living room with Sid sprawled out on the floor at his feet, telling him a story that Claude was only half listening to, but smiling encouragingly to nonetheless. Sid had made them both tea, something that Claude wasn’t sure he’d like but Sid’s body seemed to accept.

He was lost in thought, thinking about what had transpired, but everything felt years away.

“Claude?” Sid asked. The concerned look suggested that it hadn’t been the first time he’d called his name.

Claude turned his attention to Sid, who sighed heavily but couldn’t wipe the concern from his eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Sid asked.

Claude nodded. A heavy blanket was draped across his lap despite having just changed into something from Sid’s closet. Now that he looked a little closer, it seemed to have the Pens logo emblazed across it. Sneaky.

“I want to know what happened at the lake. You said our minds touched. It felt like someone was pushing me back into your body.” Claude said.

Sid leaned back on his arms, spreading his legs slightly. Claude recognized it as a position he took up when his hips were aching. He wondered if Sid woke up some nights with the same feelings that ghosted through Claude occasional, something that he could only really feel when they’d switched. He realized that his eyes were fixed to Sid’s hips and made an effort to look up at Sid’s face, which of course was his own but the expression was something that was distinctly Sid. Sid wasn’t talking anyone though, just looking at him searchingly.

Claude blinked slowly. “Sorry, continue.”

Sid pushed himself up, crossing the space between them. “I was done. You didn’t hear anything I said, did you?” There was no question in his tone.

Claude shook his head. Sid was close enough to touch, but he kept his hands in his lap. For some reason he wanted to be incredibly close to him, to put themselves back together. He felt a deep need to be whole again, to feel fixed.

Sid pushed himself up and crouched down in front of him, looking at Claude intensely. Checking to make sure his body was fine, probably. “It’s okay,” he said gently, taking Claude’s face in his hands and looking him over slowly. “We can talk about it later.”

Claude didn’t like that, didn’t like feeling slow. He pushed Sid’s hand away, missing the sensation he moment he did. Sid looked just as displeased by the lack of contact as Claude felt, and making a split decision, moved over in the massive chair, pushed the blanket to the side and pulled Sid down next to him.

Sid made a sound of surprise as he thumped down, but said nothing. Their thighs touched, and Claude flipped the blanket back over to cover Sid.

As their skin came into contact, Sid shivered. “You’re freezing. I should get you another blanket—“ as he went to push himself back up, Claude held him down, cutting Sid off altogether.

Sid gave him a curious look. “Just stay.” Claude said simply, “I want to hear about this brain shit.”

Sid bit out a laugh, the mood lightening instantly. Sid tucked the blanket around himself more securely, settling in, unconsciously moving closer to Claude. Claude’s body hummed with the contact.

“I felt us switch.” Sid said, more into the room than to Claude. “And then I felt clawing, but from the inside. Then I felt like I was drowning, and I couldn’t move.”

Claude nodded, remembering the feeling, but at the time he had really been drowning.

“When I finally separate from that, I felt you. Not like, out here,” Sid said, gesturing around the space in front of him, “but in my head.” Sid glanced at Claude, “I felt you with my mind.”

“Which has never happened before.”

Sid let out a huff. “No, it hasn’t. But we’re getting a little better at this.” He turned to look at Claude fully. “It means it’s possible to kick each other out. We did it when I won the cup.”

“Rub it in, why don’t you.” Claude murmured.

Sid smiled and elbowed him playfully. “Shut up. It just makes me happy. We might be able to control this, maybe even stop it.”

Claude hummed, “Wouldn’t that be nice.”

“We wouldn’t see each other as much anymore, though.” Sid said.

He’d sounded so sad when he’d said it that Claude had to turn and consider it. He looked over Sid, wearing his body with ease. Like he’d made himself at home in it. The expressions and tones were all Sid, there was almost nothing left of Claude in the posture or composure. He thought of how far he’d come in dealing with all of Sid’s weird routines and habits. He wondered if he’d helped Sid at all by going against so many of them. The thought made him smile.

Seeing his smile, Sid frowned even more. Claude laughed, “I’m not thinking about leaving you in the dust, I’m thinking about how much easier it will be to hang out with you if we can get this thing settled.”

Sid looked hopeful. “So you still think we’ll hang out, even after we get this all sorted?”

Claude reached over to pat him fondly on the head, messing up Sid’s hair. “Don’t worry kid, I wouldn’t abandon you like that.”

Sid knocked his hand away and flattened his hair self consciously, but Claude could see a pleased smile hidden on his face. “I’m the older one.” Sid pouted.

“Not at the moment,” Claude teased.

“My brain is still older.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. This body is more experienced. Has more hard years worked into it.”

“Alright, calm down there, it has maybe a couple months over yours.”

“I bet you can’t even dance.”

“What?” Sid looked probably about as scared as he should be.

“Is your body an awkward dancer, or are you the awkward dancer?”

Sid buried his face in his hands, “You can’t be serious.”

Claude started to rise, but Sid pushed him back down. “No, no it’s fine. It’s me, no need to test that one. You rest my tired body after you tried to murder it today.”

Claude sputtered, “I tried to murder it?”

Sid rolled his eyes and stood. “Here we go again.”

Claude followed him into the kitchen, smiling, dragging the blanket behind him.

They bickered while Sid made dinner, Claude “resting his tired body” on a chair at the island, watching Sid move around. Every once in a while, Sid would bump against Claude, touch him gently, at one point even kicking him, probably in the hopes that they would change, but their minds didn’t budge.

Over dinner, Claude looked at Sid thoughtfully, “Do you think there are other cases like us? Or is it just the hockey gods, shitting on us?”

“Shh,” Sid said into his plate, not even looking up, “they can hear us.”

Claude hummed, “So hockey gods it is.”

Sid shook his head, looking up finally. “It’s a shame that we will never really know. It’s not like we can share this with anyone.”

Claude smiled, “I hardly think this is just…” he laughed, “happening to everyone around the league.”

Sid chuckled. “Yeah, that’d be stupid.”

That night, Claude walked to his room, still wrapped up in the stupid Pens blanket. He took one last long look at Sid, who, Claude was surprised to see, was looking right back at him, hesitating in his own doorway.

Claude blinked. “So um, goodnight?”

Sid cleared his throat. “You’re still in my body. Don’t you think that we should maybe…” he didn’t finish that thought.

Claude swallowed, “Sleep in the same bed? So we can hopefully change back?”

Sid shrugged, struggling to appear casual. “Yeah, that’d be good.”

“Worked in the past.”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

Sid held the door to his room open for Claude, who shuffled down the hall under the weight of the stupid blanket, hiding a smug smile under it.

Once they had both changed and had climbed into the bed, each on their own side, Sid looked across the pillows at Claude, who was a safe distance away. Sid frowned slightly. “You still cold?”

Claude nodded.

“You can move closer. It’s your body, it doesn’t bite.”

Claude rolled closer, underestimating the distance and smacking into Sid, quickly rolling back over in the other direction. Sid was laughing. Claude scooted closer still, not quite touching.

“Better?”

“Better,” Claude confirmed.

Sid nodded, “Goodnight Claude.”

Claude smiled, “I’d say the same to you but...”

Sid sighed, “You don’t sleep well.”

Claude closed his eyes. He was out within minutes, listening to Sid’s even breathing.

_________________________________________

When Claude woke up, it was dark. He could tell that he was in his own body, but that was about it.

He shifted, but found that he couldn’t go far. A heavy, warm form clung to him, pinning him to the bed.

Claude swallowed.

Sid’s sleeping body was wrapped up with his own, a hand tangled in his shirt, a thigh between his. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed Sid’s expression, innocent and slack as he went about his sleep undisturbed by Claude’s initial tossing. Sid’s forehead was resting gently against Claude’s collarbone, breathing out of his mouth hotly onto Claude’s chest.

Claude swallowed, wondering who had startled all of this. Had it been Claude while still in Sid’s body, or Sid after returning to his own?

Across the room, he could just make out the shape of the hat he had bought with Sid. He could feel that moment at the dock when Sid had ducked down, flipping it around, and could even feel the nervous jump in his chest at how close Sid had been. At how close Sid was now.

Claude yawned, deciding that right now, it didn’t matter who had started this. Claude closed his eyes. He’d never fallen asleep so quickly in his life.


	7. The Enemy's Gate is Down - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing the 2016 World Cup of Hockey, ft. Sid and Claude sharing a room.

Sid could feel Claude was hurt. Not in a sixth sense, switching way, but he could feel it. Sitting just down the bench from him, Sid could almost feel the anger radiating off him.

In an _exhibition game_ against the US team at the World Cup of Hockey, Claude was injured. The game itself was out of control and people were getting injured left, right and center, but Sid knew how much this meant to Claude. Ending the season the way he had, all the work on his hips, the dedication it’d taken to get himself game ready, only to find himself gritting in pain again.

A penalty was called against the US and the coach called for the power-play unit to hit the ice, Claude swinging himself dutifully over the boards.

Sid skated over to where Claude had set himself up, hunched over and ready. “You okay?” Sid checked, his voice lowered.

Claude grunted in response. Sid didn’t push the subject any further.

The game was stupid. Sloppy, way too aggressive. They returned to the dressing room deflated and hurt, physically and in spirit, after a 4-2 loss.

A couple of the boys were in rough shape. Logan Couture was being ushered out of the room, gritting in pain, a trainer and a medic trailing behind him.

Claude was taking off his equipment in a steely silence, his expression closed off and cold. Sid couldn’t help sneaking looks at him, glancing from across the room, only stopping when Claude’s eyes flicked up in a glare.

Later that night, Claude knocked on Sid’s door before letting himself in with the spare keycard Sid had given him.

He sat down heavily on the single king-sized bed that occupied Sid’s room, nodding in thanks when Sid handed him a water. He looked sore. Every movement was punctuated by a wince. 

There wasn’t much to say. Claude fiddled with the keycard Sid had given him idly. How easily Sid had given it to him. There was nothing to suggest that they’d switch or that Claude would need it, there were other people who they could each gravitate towards, but in the past couple of months, they had become something more. Sid genuinely enjoyed being around Claude.

He remembered that morning at his cottage, waking up tangled around Claude. He had been in his own body, and he couldn’t help but think of how right it had been. He remembered the shame he’d felt at that thought and how he’d carefully separated himself from Claude. He’d felt cold as he’d rolled over to the far side of the bed.

He knew Claude could never know.

But here Claude was, sitting on his bed because he wanted to, not because he had to, or because they’d switched. Sid smiled.

Claude must have noticed his dopey expression because he frowned, his expression more confused then angry. Sid just shrugged and sat down next to him, their shoulders knocking as the bed dipped beneath him.

Claude winced, and Sid mumbled an apology. Claude waved it off, looking over. “Are you playing tomorrow?”

Sid hesitated, then shook his head. “Coach said I’m going to be a healthy scratch. He’s announcing it tomorrow at practice.”

Claude sighed heavily. Sid felt guilty, thinking of all the guys who could probably use the break. He’d left the ice relatively unharmed.

Likely sensing his thoughts, Claude elbowed him playfully. “Cheer up Cap. More ice time for the rest of us." 

Sid groaned, “I know we are all the best of the best and deserve equal ice time, but shit. I wanted to _play_.”

Claude smiled widely then yawned. He flopped back heavily onto the bed, running a hand over his face.

“Do you want to crash here tonight?” Sid asked, going for casual but probably sounding more eager than anything.

If Claude noticed, he didn’t say anything, only shook his head. “I already got a couple chirps from the boys when I said I was coming up here.”

A small thrill zipped through Sid’s body. “People saw you coming up here?”

Claude pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Yeah Sid, I’m not a late night booty call, we’re hanging out.”

Sid looked away, mumbling something he hoped sounded smart.

Claude pushed himself to his feet, leaving Sid feeling dumb and young still sitting. He stood, but maybe too quickly because a startled look crossed Claude’s face.

Sid cleared his throat, trying to play it off. “Alright, so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Claude rolled his eyes at Sid’s formalness and stepped forwards, pulling Sid into a hug. Sid couldn’t help stiffening in the embrace, his back straightening reflexively and arms awkward. Claude slapped him on the back heavily, pulling back. He looked mildly amused. “If you want, we can try that long distance switching thing. Especially if I’m getting battered out there, it might be nice to get a break after today’s game.” 

Sid chuckled, “We’ve never actually gotten that to work yet. Besides, you should play. I’m sure there will be a time when you’re in the press box and I’ll be on the ice. It will even out.”

A look of uncertainty passed over Claude’s face. “I hope not, I want to play.”

Sid smiled and walked him to the door. “You’ll play.”

That night, Sid slept horribly. He wondered how Claude was doing, Claude who was the worst sleeper Sid had seen. It might have been easier if Claude had stayed the night.

Worse still was the next day when Sid arrived at practice with dark circles under his eyes. Claude gave him a questioning look, but didn’t say anything. Sid moved through that day in a sluggish haze. Later during the game, Sid even felt thankful for be in the press box, watching as Canada dominated the ice.

They looked better out there today. Sid’s eyes followed Claude every time he hit the ice, almost feeling the moments when Claude would climb over the boards to play.

Sid closed his eyes and tried reaching out to Claude like they’d practice a few times, but instantly felt bad for trying. This was Claude’s game, Sid would get his time.

Canada picked up the win, and despite it being a pretournament game, it felt good. Sid entered the room, patting players on the back as he did, complimenting people on some nice plays, chirping others.

He carefully avoided Claude’s eyes, feeling them all the while that he made the tour of the room. When Sid finally got to him, Claude was looking at him so hard it was like he was trying to communicate telepathically, making Sid chuckle. “You doing okay, Giroux?” he said, only loud enough for Claude to hear. 

Claude was still frowning. “You look like shit.” He said flatly.

Sid sighed, “Just what I wanted to hear.”

Claude shook his head, “I can almost… feel it. You’re tired. You look like you didn’t sleep at all.”

Sid said nothing. It was impossible that Claude had actually felt something. That would have just been a new level of terrifying to add to the situation.

Claude was still watching him, so Sid just shrugged. “I didn’t sleep well. It’s fine, I’ll get over it.”

Claude stood suddenly, pulling off equipment more aggressively now. A couple guys looked over and Sid winced. “It’s not fine,” Claude hissed only loud enough for Sid to hear, “I’m coming over to your room tonight.”

It wasn’t a question, so Sid didn’t bothering answering, just nodded. He finished his tour of the room feeling cold and upset that he had pissed off Claude. 

Later, when Claude knocked, Sid had been ready and waiting. He’d been pacing around his room nervously for a good half hour, springing forwards at the first knock. He checked himself, shifting from foot to foot, not wanting to look desperate. Finally, unable to wait any longer, he pulled open the door, anxious to see if Claude was still mad at him.

Claude looked… fine. Good even. He was in his pajamas, hair still damp from a shower, holding a grocery bag full of things. Sid stepped aside to let him in.

Claude walked right over to the desk in the corner of the room and emptied out the bag. Out poured snacks, a package of some kind, some bottles and a couple candy bars.

Sid balked at the contents, walking over to join Claude. He pushed through the pile, recognizing the juice as the kind he liked, the snacks ones that he kept stocked in his house.

Sid turned to Claude, who was watching him carefully. “What’s this for?” 

Claude picked up the small package that Sid had seen earlier, turning it over. They were sleeping pills. Claude looked up at him. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

Sid felt himself pale. He hated being that person who needed help. He swallowed and shrugged, “I’ve been okay.”

“That’s bullshit,” Claude snapped. “I’ve been sleeping better and you’ve been sleeping worse.”

Sid’s head snapped up, “What?”

Claude nodded, “I’ve been sleeping much better now. I have been for a couple weeks.”

“Since the cottage?”

Claude struggled for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Sid sucked in a breath. “Do you think we did something, trying to force the switches?”

Claude set the box of pills on the desk. “I don’t know. All I know is that it started by liking your stupid juice, and now I sleep better.”

“And I started liking grilled cheeses and sleep worse.”

Claude snorted, “You’ve always liked grilled cheeses, you just never admitted it to yourself.” He picked up a bottle of the juice and poured them each a glass. Sid accepted his with a nod.

“So now what?” Sid asked.

“Well, tonight I’m going to sleep here. We’ll see if that helps.”

Sid almost spat out his juice. “You’re joking.”

Claude frowned, looking mildly offended. “No.”

Sid looked at the contents spilled out on his desk, spotting a toothbrush and some toothpaste. Sid opened his mouth, searching for words, then closed it again. “I don’t understand.” He said finally.

Claude rolled his eyes and walked over to the bed, pulling the covers back. “We’re not going to try the sleeping pills tonight. We’re going to try this. I always slept better with you around—“

“—because you were in my body—“ Sid tried protesting, but Claude cut him off.

“No Sid. Because you were there.” Claude said, suddenly serious.

Sid swallowed. An awkward silence settled between them. Claude turned and resumed pulling the sheets back, setting the glass on the bedside table, on the side that Sid knew Claude had to take in order to sleep properly. Claude stepped back and gestured to the bathroom. “Go get ready for bed,” he said, “then we’ll see what kind of crap they have on the tv here."

That last bit made Sid snort, a small smile spreading across his face. But only a small one. He hated having to be taken care of, but Claude seemed equal to the task. Sid brushed his teeth then swapped with Claude. Soon, they were both climbing under the blankets, the lights off. The room was lit only by the dull light of the television.

There was so much room between them, the bed seeming huge.

“What do you want to watch?” Claude asked.

Sid paused, “Can we put on HGTV?”

Claude looked over at him. His hair was finally dry but was sticking out a weird angles, looking boyish. “You like that shit?”

“Shut up.” Sid said, but there was no bite behind it.

Claude sighed, but put on some home renovation show. Sid smiled.

Claude was fidgety during the whole show. He kept looking over at Sid, shifting, changing positions. Sid offered him one of the extra pillows but Claude waved it off. After a while of Claude’s tossing, Sid rolled onto his side, looking over at him. “So you’re going to sleep here. With me.”

Claude looked irritated. “Yes, we went over this.”

“Not really, you kind of just announced it.”

Claude rolled his eyes, not looking at Sid. “Whatever, we share a bed all the time.”

“When we’ve changed.”

“So? We wake up in our bodies.”

“You don’t have to do this for me, I know this is annoying.”

Claude looked surprised at that, finally glancing over at him. “It’s not annoying. This is my fault, so I feel better if I help make it better.”

Sid frowned, “How is this your fault?”

“I can tell you’re mad at me, just admit it. You think it’s my fault you can’t sleep, but you didn’t want to tell me to make me feel bad.” Claude frowned again. “I’m an adult Sid, and as much as you don’t like to admit it, a Captain too. I can handle it.”

Sid snorted, surprising them both by scooting closer to Claude, almost touching now. “I’m not mad at you and I don’t think this is your fault. I’m just tired as hell. I thought you were mad at me because I didn’t tell you I wasn’t sleeping."

“Well, I kind of am.” Claude grumbled, “But I was more worried than angry.”

Sid smiled. Claude elbowed him in the ribs, “Cut it out.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

They laid there in silence, letting the tv show end. Then they shut it off, settling in. Claude shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position. Sid watched him with interest. He’d never seen Claude dealing with his sleep problems in his own body before.

They laid there in the dark, both aware that the other was awake, both not speaking. The soft sound of breathing filled the space.

“The boys will rib you if they find out you spent the night here.” Sid said finally.

“We’ll tell them I got drunk and passed out.”

“No, that’s crazy.”

“I’ll tell them you drugged me and brought me back to your room and I barely escaped with my life.”

“Yeah, that’s better.”

“I thought so.”

More silence.

“Do you think maybe…” Claude started. “Never mind, it’s stupid.”

“Were you going to suggest the pills?”

“No, I… no. Forget it.”

“Well now I can’t.”

Claude cleared his throat. “Maybe we have to be touching or something.”

“To sleep better?”

Claude snorted. The bed jostled as he shifted. “I said forget it, you wanted to know.”

“No.” Sid said, blinking into the darkness. “No… we can try it.”

Sid scooted closer so that their arms were touching. He could feel the heat of Claude’s body radiating through his sleeve.

Claude sighed. He rolled over, falling half onto Sid. He hitched up a leg, tangling it in with Sid’s. Sid’s body jolted at the contact, but Claude persisted, settling himself in more comfortably.

Sid swallowed when Claude finally stopped moving. He could feel Claude’s breath on his neck, making Sid’s cheeks heat, but a pleasant buzz had settled through him.

“Okay?” Claude asked quietly.

“Yeah.” Sid’s voice was much lower than he’d intended. He cleared his throat, “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Good.”

A silence fell over the room, but this time it wasn’t awkward.

“Next time can you just tell me when something like this happens?” Claude asked.

Sid nodded. Claude’s weight felt good, constant and grounding, almost reassuring. Sid liked it. His eyes grew heavy. “Alright.”

Another moment of silence. “Let’s get a shared room in Toronto.”

Sid smiled, his eyes drooping shut. “I’ll ask tomorrow.”

Claude snorted, “They’d give you anything you ask for, wouldn’t they?”

Sid chuckled, “Pretty much.”

They stayed like that. Eventually, Claude’s breathing evened out. Sid could feel Claude’s heart beating rhythmically in his chest, getting slower and more even as time passed. It was that steady thumping that led Sid into his own restful sleep.

________________________________________

When Sid requested to share a room with Claude, a look of surprise flashed across the trainer’s face but only for a moment. People expected Sid to be odd, to request weird things. Therefore things that should be thought twice about were often played off. Sid chuckled to himself, wondering if anyone would even bat an eye if he ever admitted that he’d been switching bodies with his top rival.

They got a room with two beds, but they only actually used one for sleeping. The other one was used to hold their luggage.

The first night that they officially shared a room, Claude curled up around Sid and joked about needing to watch out for his second body in case he needed it for game time. Sid had laughed but couldn’t help feeling a little cold, taking longer to fall asleep than usual.

The tournament itself was going amazingly well. During the Round Robin, Team Canada won every game. The problem was that Claude wasn’t playing.

He had played the couple of pretournament games, then was a healthy scratch for the next two games. Sid saw Claude talking in a hushed voice with Babcock a couple of times, but when he’d ask about it later, Claude would shrug it off. Sid tried not to let it bother him.

Sid tried not to linger on it, but sometimes he couldn’t help it. Claude wasn’t telling him anything, but every night without fail they would climb into the same bed together. Sid supposed that’s how he was able to better notice all of the slight winces and groans Claude made when he rolled over oddly during the night or slept weird.

On the morning of the game against Czech Republic, Sid sat on the bed watching Claude move around the room, getting his things ready to shower. Claude had caught him looking, Sid having been unable to advert his eyes fast enough.

“What?” Claude snapped.

“You’re not a healthy scratch, are you?” Sid said quietly.

Claude looked angry for a moment, then let out a heavy breath. He said nothing, just left Sid alone in his spot to shower. They won that night. Sid couldn’t help glancing up at the press box where he knew Claude would be watching.

“I don’t get why you won’t tell me.” Sid told him later. He felt tired. He didn’t want to be having these conversations with Claude.

“I’m fine.” Claude said. Out of habit, Claude still showered after getting back from the arena and his hair was dripping wet.

Claude was towel drying it when Sid sat down heavily on the bed, feeling incredibly tired. “Maybe we should change rooms.” Sid said. He’d meant to say it smoothly, with no remorse, but it had come out incredibly sad.

Claude paused, jerking his head up. “What?”

“Well, this isn’t working. You’re not talking to me. This was supposed to help both of us, but you’re not happy.”

Claude tossed the towel onto the corner of the unused bed. “What are you talking about? I’m fine. You’re sleeping better, right?”

“Not well enough to keep you here if you’re not happy.”

Claude growled, “Stop saying that, I am happy. What the fuck is happening?”

Sid felt suddenly pissed off. “You’ve been moping around, not telling me anything. Plus we’ve got no game plan. Are we just going to share a bed forever? You’re going to move to Pittsburgh, and we’ll just hang out until this whole thing goes away? What if it never does?”

Claude’s expression grew closed off, dead. It was worse than anger. “I don’t think it’s going to go away, Sid. I think we need to learn to deal with it, and I think it’ll get better.”

The more reasonable Claude got the angrier Sid became. He stood suddenly, crossing the room to get in Claude’s face. “Well I don’t want this to last forever. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of being tied to someone.”

“Tell me how you really feel, Sid.” Claude’s voice was small, sounding incredibly tired.

Sid clenched his jaw, swallowing against the waves of anger, but when met by Claude’s sadness, it dissipated. “Tell me I’m not crazy. All of this is crazy and I need someone to tell me that it’s crazy. You’re always so calm and I don’t want to feel calm, I went someone else to be mad about this with me.”

A small smile broke across Claude’s face. “You’re not crazy, this is crazy.”

A grateful laugh bubbled out of Sid and he let himself fall against Claude heavily. Claude patted him on the back, finally pushing him back up so he can continue to get ready for his shower. “I’m fine Sid, I promise.”

“You better not be lying to me.”

Claude snorted but said nothing.  

  
_____________________________________________ 

Sid found himself staring up at the press box again. The first period had just ended. Marchand knocked shoulders with him, jolting him out of his daze. Sid smiled gratefully and waved him off, not leaving until he was the last one off the ice.

In the dressing room, he couldn’t concentrate. His mind kept going back to Claude. He closed his eyes. He didn’t have to push himself, he’d been thinking about Claude way too much these days. The dizzying feeling engulfed him and when he opened his eyes, he was staring down at the rink.

There was a buzz around him and when Sid looked, he found himself surrounded by other players who had been scratched that night, press and staff milling round. He felt a wave of dizziness overtake him again and heard someone asking if he was okay. He nodded and turned back towards the rink, watching as the players emerged from the tunnel. Sid knew immediately when Claude stepped onto the ice in his body, looking up towards the press box. 

Sid frowned, the nausea passing finally. It had never lingered so long after they’d switched. He called for a bottle of water and someone handed him one without comment. A dull pain throbbed through his shoulder and down his side, refusing to subside. He wondered if this was what Claude had been hiding from him.

On the ice, Claude was looking off balance. Probably about as off balance as Sid was feeling. Sid had thought that the switch would be good for Claude, to give him the chance to get on the ice and play. Now he wasn’t so sure if this had been a good idea. 

The headaches had started after Sid and Claude had attempted purposefully switching, so did Sid’s sleepless nights. Maybe even the delay in Claude’s healing after hip surgery had been affected. At least those felt okay now.

While in Claude’s body, an awful nausea came and went, and Claude’s play on the ice was obviously being affected. Team USA was not far behind Team Canada and Sid felt himself slipping in and out of consciousness as he tried to focus on the game.

With two minutes left in the 3rd period, Sid’s vision blacked out and an added wave of dizziness overtook him.

He cursed, coming too on the bench. Back in his body, Sid looked up at the press box. He was sure he could see Claude from down here. The problem was, the dizziness stayed. He ducked his head against a wave of it, very aware that he was going to be called to get back onto the ice any moment. 

Claude was going to kill him later.

_____________________________________________

 

It was worse than Sid thought. Claude had also been affected by the nausea and dizziness, though maybe not as badly as Sid was. He didn’t speak to Sid for the rest of the night. He cleared the second bed of their things, folding it all carefully and placing it on the desk.

Without speaking, he took two of the sleeping pills that he’d bought during the pretournament, then slipped under the covers. He had his back to Sid, unmoving. Sid didn’t touch him.

It was one of the worst nights of his life. Probably equal to all the restless nights vomiting with his concussion just a couple seasons before.

_____________________________________________

 

Thankfully they had a game the next night, keeping them both busy. And to top it off, Claude was actually going to be playing in this one.

Claude was milling around the room with a kind of nervous energy. He still didn’t speak to Sid, but he was much more alert. Sid could tell there was something underneath it all. Sid’s head was still spinning from forcing the shift and Claude couldn’t really have been unaffected by it.

On the ice, Claude looked shaky. His passes were off, his shots missed and his skating was just a step behind what it should have been. If prompted, Sid would also have admitted to being just a step behind the game.

Claude kept shooting him poisonous glances from across the ice, ones that Sid could never quite meet. Claude even made a point to clip him as they changed on the fly, knocking him hard on the shoulder sending him off balance. One of the trainers asked if he was okay. Sid could only nod, but he felt far from okay. 

That night, when they finally got back to the hotel and to the privacy of their room, Claude yelled at him. Sid felt like shit, mostly taking it.

“You aren’t supposed to do shit like that, Sid. If the changes are fucking us both up, why would you force another?”

Sid could only sit there miserably.

Claude paced back and forth angrily. “I played like shit tonight. Fuck, they’re not going to ask me to play again.”

Sid looked up at him, practically feeling the frustration rolling off him. He knew there was nothing he could say that would help the situation but couldn’t stop himself. “I just wanted you to get a chance to play.”

Claude spun around, towering over him. “I got a chance to play Sid, and your stupid shit screwed it up for me. This is your fault.”

"You were the one who told me to practice switching. _You_ said that." Sid snapped back.

Claude sputtered, "That was before I found out you weren't sleeping. You're smarter than that Sid, what the fuck."

It was true. There was little to be said after that. Maybe Claude wanted him to fight back, but Sid didn’t have the energy for it. “I’m sorry,” was all he got out.

Claude stared at him, unmoving. Then, he turned and strode into the bathroom, yanking the door shut behind him.

Sid stared at the space that Claude had occupied just moments before. Then he got up, shutting the lights off and curled up into his bed. No sounds came from the bathroom, only a thin light peaked out from under the door.

Sid knew he wasn’t going to sleep again. He could already feel the restlessness clawing at him. He considered getting up, taking the sleeping pills that Claude had left on nightstand. At the very least he should take something for the headache that was refusing to leave.

As he considered his options, footsteps sounded from inside the other room. Sid froze, focusing on evening out his breathing. He curled onto his side, his back to the door, and closed his eyes.

The door squeaked open. Sid almost held his breath so he could listen better but forced himself to breathe in deep and exhale. A resounding silence echoed throughout the room. Maybe Claude had left. Maybe Sid had misunderstood the sound of the door and it was actually Claude leaving into the hallway. Who would Claude room with? How would he be able to sleep without Claude sharing a room with him? After the long stretch of the tournament, it now seemed impossible. After all they’d gone through these past couple of month, Sid wasn’t sure if he’d be able to cope without Claude’s ever present calmness and optimism towards the situation. Sid wanted to laugh. How was it that Claude was the calm one in all of this? The thought of losing what they had was crushing. He wasn’t sure if he could do it. 

The bed dipped, making Sid jump.

“Sorry, sorry,” Claude mumbled softly, climbing under the covers.

Sid stiffened in surprise, jumping as arms wrapped around his middle.

Claude’s breath was hot on his neck. “This okay?” He asked. His voice was shy, testing. There was an underlying current of tension in his words, but it seemed to be aimed more towards the possibility of being rejected.

Sid swallowed and nodded, thankful for the darkness of the room, hiding his heating cheeks.

Claude mumbled something that sounded soothing and pressed his forehead to Sid’s shoulder. His hands were warm on Sid’s abdomen, or maybe that was just Sid. He felt hot all over.

“Can we agree to just talk before we do shit like that again?” Claude mumbled into his skin.

Sid closed his eyes, “Yes." 

Claude let out a sigh of relief, his breath tickling the small hairs around his ears. “No more switching this tournament. I’ve been off balance enough, don’t add something else to it.”

“I’ve been feeling like shit too.” Sid admitted quietly.

Claude’s arms flexed as he pulled Sid closer, so that his chest was flush with Sid’s back. In the process, Sid’s shirt slid up and Claude’s hand ran along his bare ribs. Sid’s breath hitched, but this time, Claude didn’t pull back. He traced patterns into Sid’s side, and Sid felt his body grow hot under those hands.

He swallowed, trying not to squirm. But he was as equally tired as he was interested in the hands on his body.

“I’m not crazy, right?” Claude asked quietly.

“No, you definitely are crazy.” Sid mumbled, stifling a yawn.

Claude paused, both peaking Sid’s interest, wondering where he had been going with that final thought, but equally being pulled under by the night. Finally Claude huffed, letting out a yawn himself. His hands stilled but stayed where they were. “Goodnight, Sid.”

“Goodnight Claude.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to turn this into a two part ending, as there was too much to say and it felt really choppy as one long chapter.


	8. The Enemy’s Gate is Down - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who wins the Cup again?

“Where are we going?” Sid asked.

“You’ll see.” Claude said, walking a couple of paces ahead of him. They were emerging from a subway station god knows where.

“I hate this.” Sid mumbled, pulling his hood over his face just a little more, glancing around nervously. No one seemed to be paying them any mind though. Claude rolled his eyes, but was likewise wearing a large sweater that obscured his face. “It’ll be easier on the way back, we can take a taxi after you’ve seen the surprise.”

“You’re not going to blindfold me, are you?”

Claude shot him a look, but it was light, joking even. “No, you’ll understand in a second. Trust me, I grew up around here.”

“You grew up in the middle of backwoods Ontario.”

“Shut up, it’s the same thing.”

“Is not,” Sid mumbled.

They climbed the stairs together. The sun had long since gone down, and this little trip directly interfered with his sleep schedule. Especially on an off day without another game for two days. He didn’t know what to expect

The lights hit him as he exited the tunnel, but as he got his bearings, he gasped. The hum of cars surrounded him, and he had to crane his neck to look at it. The CN Tower loomed overhead, brightly lit and stunning in the dark. The baseball diamond next to it was still awake, the sounds of a game playing out around them.

“You get it now?” Claude asked, smiling.

“We’re going up?” Sid asked, stunned. He’d always heard about it, seen the tower itself, but had never actually been inside.

“Of course we are.” Claude scoffed, walking in long strides towards the building. Sid struggled to keep up.

Inside, Claude spoke to a man at the desk. There was a brief conversation followed by some gesturing, then they were escorted to the elevator, the three of them piling in. Claude and Sid stood close to each other, a silence filling the small space as the man escorted them all the way to the top.

When the doors opened, Sid was instantly drawn out of the elevator. The attendant called after him, but Claude stopped him. They spoke for a moment, then the man climbed back into the elevator, leaving Claude and Sid alone.

Sid was glued to the window, looking down at the streets that stretched out beneath them. The city was beautifully lit in the dark and the Roger’s Center was open at their feet, a game playing out bellow.

“Holy shit,” Sid breathed out.

Claude chuckled behind him, much closer than Sid had expected. He stepped around Sid to stand next to him, their arms brushing. “This is amazing,” Sid breathed.

Claude nodded, smiling. “Yeah, it’s alright.”

Sid gave him a shove, but they were both pleased. “What prompted this?” Sid asked, his eyes on the city.

Claude said nothing, but Sid could feel him looking his way. “Nothing, I guess.” Claude said finally. “Just haven’t been here in a long time.”

Sid snorted, “And you couldn’t think of anyone else you’d rather take with you?”

Claude hummed, “No, I wanted to go with you.”

When Sid turned to look at him, Claude only shrugged. “We’ve been through a lot. You’re almost like a friend or something.”

“Or something.” Sid mumbled.

The CN Tower must change colors, because the lights on the sides were reflecting onto the air, or fog, or cloud or whatever it was around them. Sid wanted to laugh and he certainly had a huge grin across his face.

Claude knocked against him lightly. Sid looked over. “I guess it’s also a ‘sorry for getting mad at you the other night’.” Claude admitted.

“Oh great,” Sid laughed. “I’m forever going to remember this moment as the one where we awkwardly made up.”

Claude sighed, “If you really want to, sure.”

“How else would I remember it?” Sid asked.

The room around them was dimly lit, with only really the reflection of the city to offer them any lighting. Sid could hear Claude’s quiet breathing next to him, in sync with his own.

Claude said nothing.

“It’s doesn’t matter,” Sid said. “I was careless. Let’s just forget that and enjoy the view.”

Claude chuckled, “If I’d known it’d be this easy, then I would have just ordered in or something.”

“No, this is great.”

Claude hummed, “Yeah, this is pretty nice.”

Silence fell over them.

“Does it make you uncomfortable sharing a bed with me?” Sid blurted out.

“What?” Claude sputtered, “Where the fuck did that come from?”

Sid’s cheeks reddened and he turned back towards the window. “Nothing, forget it.”

“I don’t feel uncomfortable sharing a bed with you.” Claude said, sighing. “Why would you think that?”

Sid shrugged. “I feel like I’m being a burden.”

“I would have told you months ago if I didn’t like it, Sid.”

“But what if we just spent forever, stuck with each other, switching back and forth?”

“I really don’t think there’s any real chance of that happening.”

Sid sighed, “I guess I just wonder if we would have hung out if this hadn’t started. I wonder if it’s happening to other people, and I want to know why it’s happening to us.”

Claude said nothing for a moment, thinking. “No,” he said finally, “I don’t think we would have hung out if this hadn’t started.” His voice was flat, sad even.

Sid smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “Don’t hold back or anything.”

Claude shrugged. He wasn’t smiling. “It’s the truth. Sure, you were okay last year at the IIFH Championships, but it wasn’t like ‘become-best-friends-hang-out-on-the-weekend’ okay.”

“’Come-to-my-cottage-where-no-one-else-has-ever-been’ okay,” mumbled Sid.

“Exactly.” Claude said, nodding. “But we’re friends now.” He said the word ‘friends’ very carefully.

Sid sighed, “And the rest?”

Claude shrugged. “You’ve always been weird Sid, in perspective, this all kind of makes sense.”

Sid laughed.

They didn’t talk about it anymore. Their conversation turned more cheerful as they gazed out at the city bellow. Eventually, Claude looked down at his watch. “We have to go soon.” He said with a sigh.

Sid nodded, looking at Claude carefully. Seeing him now, Sid could see that his expression was strong, partly closed off and almost tense. He looked incredibly handsome in the light from the city, his body warm where it touched Sid’s skin. “There’s nothing else you brought me up here for?” Sid asked carefully. About as carefully as Claude had called him a ‘friend’.

Claude looked at him. They were so close now and Claude looked incredibly conflicted. “What do you mean?” he asked quietly.

Sid cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Nothing I guess.”

The elevator door pinged behind them, making them both jump. Sid chuckled awkwardly and turned towards it but Claude didn’t move. He took one last long look at the city bellow and while he did Sid took one long last look at Claude, whose figure looked lean and strong in the backdrop of the city.

Claude turned back towards him and walked over to the elevator, guiding Sid gently with a hand on his back. Sid glanced down at the distance between them, then back up at Claude, who seemed not to notice.

Sid extended the arm that was brushing Sid’s side to reach out and pull Claude closer, into a half hug of sorts, and smiled at him. “Thank you.” He told Claude sincerely as they stepped into the elevator. There was no attendant in there with them this time.

Claude ducked his head in a nod of sorts and smiled shyly.

“What now, captain?” Sid asked with a smile, letting go of Claude’s side.

Claude didn’t move, their bodies still pressed together. It was closer than they’d ever allowed themselves to be when they weren’t in the darkness and privacy of their room.

Claude seemed to struggle for a moment, then let out an awkward laugh. “That’s my line.”

“But you’re in charge tonight,” Sid said quietly.

Claude swallowed. The elevator door closed and they were on their way down.

“Com’on Claude, what’s next?” Sid breathed. They were standing so close now.

Claude was looking at him intensely, as if all of the answer were written on Sid’s face. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He bit his lip nervously, then cleared his throat. “Maybe we can—“

The elevator sounded, startling whatever Claude was going to say out of him. He let out a shaky laugh, shaking his head. The doors swung open and the lobby appeared, filled with people.

Sid’s eyes grew wide and Claude hastily stepped away from him. Sid pulled his head down a little further over his face and stepped into the crowd, Claude trailing close behind him. Sid thought he’d heard his name and walked a little faster. They left the Tower and hopped into one of the cabs that was waiting for baseball fans and tourists alike.

Sid was breathing hard, but managed a laugh. Claude smiled at him, but it was a little sad.

Sid reached over and squeezed Claude’s shoulder, his hand lingering maybe a moment too long but he didn’t care. Claude’s face must have reflected his own, because it was filled with exactly what Sid was feeling. Confused, lonely, maybe even a little wanting. Sid was definitely feeling that last one, a low burning inside him that made him want to go back to that moment in the elevator, wanted to know what Claude would have done if they’d had just a second more.

Sid turned to Claude to say something, anything that might have brought them back, but Claude was turned away from him, lost looking out of the window as the city whizzed by.

Sid swallowed and likewise turned to look out the window. The rest of the cab ride was quiet, thoughtful. Claude paid for it as they pulled up to the hotel, tipping generously, before climbing out.

Sid followed him up to their room quietly, as Claude seemed to be wrapped up in a thoughtful bubble. Side felt a twinge in his gut, knowing that this meant that the evening was over.

Sid closed the door behind them, turning around to apologize when he was suddenly pushed up against the wall, Claude’s body pressing hotly against his.

Sid squeaked, but it was muffled by Claude’s lips, bruisingly hard and hot against his own.

Sid moaned, melting into it as Claude reached up to tangle a hand in his hair, pulling him impossibly close.

Sid pulled back, breathing heavily. Claude went to chase his lips, but checked himself, taking in a deep breath himself. His lips were tender looking from the force of the kiss.

“Sorry,” Claude breathed, looking a little dazed.

“I’m not complaining.” Sid said with a smile, “I was hoping you would do that earlier.”

Claude groaned and leaned his head against Sid’s shoulder, his breathing still heavy. “I was waiting for you to make the first move.”

Sid snorted, “I was waiting for you!”

Claude pulled back to look at him, frowning slightly. “Waiting for me? What the hell, I’ve been giving clear signs over here!”

Sid laughed, “Of fucking course this would have happened.”

Claude stepped back, his bottom lip pouting just slightly. “Why would this be on me? You’re the one who’s been dating girls, I didn’t know.”

Sid blinked, “What do you mean?”

Claude looked embarrassed. “I went on that awful date for you.”

Sid blinked. He’d forgotten all about that, having never called Kelsey back. Then he laughed. Claude looked a little hurt by it, prompting Sid to choke out a couple apologies between laughs. “No, Claude. I’m sorry, it’s just… Yeah. No. No girls. I think the whole league knows that.”

Claude was turning pink. “Okay, well I didn’t want to assume.”

“We’ve been sharing a bed.”

At that, Claude’s embarrassment fled and he let out a sharp laugh. “Yeah, that was really the only reason why I went for it tonight.”

“The only reason? Really?” Sid smiled. “Were you going to do it in the CN Tower?”

Claude smiled almost shyly. “I was thinking about it.”

Sid hummed, “I’m happy either way.”

“Gross.”

“Shut up.”

Claude smiled. He leaned in for another kiss. It was much gentler this time.

_____________________________________________

The next couple of days were a blur. The team was being pushed to the limits by their coaches in practice and during games, keeping them too busy to really be alone, but thankfully their winning streak kept them relaxed enough to not induce any switching.

Despite that, Sid couldn’t help feeling a little lost. Besides a few linger looks that seemed to communicate more than usual, their relationship didn’t really seem to be any different than before.

When Sid brought it up with Claude after their Semi-Final win against Russia, he only laughed.

“We’ve still been sharing a bed.”

Sid frowned, “Yeah, but...”

Claude sighed, “I don’t know about you, but this isn’t really the best place to be trying out a new relationship or anything. There’s a ton of media and coverage of us and this event, Sid.”

“I know.”

Claude gave him a searching look. “We been practically dating for a couple of months now.”

Sid laughed, “Yeah, I guess. But I don’t know, I kind of thought more would change after…”

Claude sighed dramatically, but he was smiling. “You’re so fucking demanding. What do you want from me? You can initiate some shit too here.”

Sid rolled his eyes, “Fine, I want to… I don’t know, make out more or something. I want to do shit.”

Claude put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him in closer. Sid’s body tensed up a bit in anticipation, licking his lips subconsciously. His stomach flipped when Claude leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Okay Sid, we can do stuff like that…”

Sid swallowed, his hands reaching up to tug gently on Claude’s shirt.

“…After the tournament.” Claude breathed.

Sid groaned and pushed Claude back, but was smiling nonetheless. “You suck.”

Claude shrugged, “Hey, if you really want I can stop thinking about my dead grandmother every time I get horny at night.”

“Aren’t you romantic.”

Claude smiled, “I aim to please.”

“Well, you aren’t pleasing me.”

“In bed?” Claude smiled, “Don’t you worry Sid. As soon as this shit is all over, we are going to spend some time together.”

Sid snorted, but there was a small smile on his face.

_____________________________________________

When Sid heard Claude’s name, he slowed to a stop.

“—this whole tournament is weird. I mean, look at how the exhibition games started. We almost lost Claude to injuries, we did lose Tyler, what’s next?”

It sounded like Burns, and a very distinctly Joe Thorton answered him. “I agree. Plus that whole North America thing.”

“I like it,” Burns answered.

Sid strained to hear them, tucked away just out of view.

Joe sighed, “I don’t mind it, but I’m just saying, this is all just odd. And it’s going to make for a long season.”

A laugh, “You’re getting old, Joe.”

Joe laughed, “Plus Sid sharing a room, you guys notice that?”

A snort. “Yeah, but that’s just Sid stuff. Claude probably screwed up his routine and now he’s stuck repeating it over and over.” The French accent was definitely Vlassic’s. There didn’t seem to be any other voices, just the San Jose teammates from Team Canada.

A laugh. “I wonder if it’s anything deeper than that. Sid would have to be pretty fond of the guy if they’re rooming together.” Brett chuckled.

“Just a couple years ago they were throwing punches,” Vlassic mussed.

Thorton grunted, “That’s hockey for you. Sid’s a professional.”

Someone hummed. Light footsteps picked up, walking away from Sid towards the dressing room. Sid waited an extra minute before walking off in that direction as well. Most of the boys were already there, getting geared up for their game, the first in the best of three series for the Cup against Europe.

Claude wasn’t playing again tonight, meaning he wasn’t in the room. A couple guys greeted him as he made his way to his stall, but others were sending odd glances his way. Sid tried his best to avoid them, focusing instead on going through his routine.

On the bench it was harder to ignore. Marchand tensed when Sid clapped him on the shoulder after a hard shift. Sid tried letting it go, but it tugged on the back of his mind throughout the whole next shift, distracting him. Knowing it was no good, he raced back to the bench for a much quicker change than he should have made.

Babcock arched an eyebrow at him but said nothing. A trainer checked that he was okay, but Sid waved him off. Bergeron was the next back on the bench from Sid’s line.

“You okay?” he asked.

Sid nodded, then ducked his head. “Is everything okay with Marchy?”

Bergeron’s expression became carefully neutral. “Yeah, he’s fine.”

Sid’s stomach dropped. “Just tell me.”

Bergeron looked around carefully, opening his mouth as if to say something, then spotted Marchand racing back towards the bench for a change. He looked a Sid. “It’s nothing.”

Sid looked him over carefully. “Can we talk later?”

Bergeron hesitated then nodded. Marchand slid onto the bench next to Bergy. He leaned around him, looking at Sid. The look wasn’t mean, just careful. “You good?”

Sid nodded, “Yeah, just had to fix some equipment.”

Marchand nodded, reaching down for a water. Sid looked up, into the press box, just making out the shape of Claude’s body. Bergeron followed Sid’s gaze up, then gave him a reproachful look. Bergy turned back towards the game, never saying anything.

Sid swallowed. Maybe Claude had been right. Too many eyes here. For the switching, for their friendship, for them.

_____________________________________________

“So what,” Claude said. “It’s one grainy picture on the internet. It barely looks like us.”

“It _is_ us.” Sid insisted, pacing like a caged animal in their tiny room.

“So? No one knows that but us.”

Sid shot him a look. “They know.”

Claude sighed, sitting down heavily on the bed. “You’re being dramatic.”

“People are talking about us,” Sid stressed. “Marchand would barely look at me.”

“He’s a little shit.”

“No he’s not,” Sid snapped, “he’s heard things.”

Claude shook his head, “So what do you want to do, huh? Switch rooms? You’re going to kick me out?”

Sid shot Claude a look, “Then neither of us would be able to sleep.”

Claude sighed and pushed himself up off the bed. “Oh come on Sid. You can’t really be this stupid.”

Sid stopped his pacing and turned to look at Claude, narrowing his eyes. They were both getting worked up, but Sid was too amped up after their win against Europe to care. “What do you mean?”

Claude snorted, “You really still believe the whole sleeping thing?”

Sid froze. “Come again?”

Claude let out a mean chuckle. “I made that up, Sid. I wasn’t sleeping any better since the changes. I was trying to help you.”

Sid blinked. Then a rage built up in him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Claude sighed, “You get stuck when you believe in something. You weren’t sleeping, so you thought the switches were causing it. Last season you had a shit start because you were stuck believing that you couldn’t do any better than that. I told you that I was sleeping better, so we slept in the same bed. You were able to sleep, so you though that it was because we were close, then it became something you had to do. It’s not about what’s fact with you, it’s about what you believe.”

Sid was rooted to his spot. “But what about the juice?”

Claude shrugged, “It was good juice.”

“What about the nausea?”

“When we force a switch? I think it’s just that, we’re not supposed to do that shit.” Claude laughed, shaking his head. “I just wanted to help you sleep better.”

“That was a huge fucking lie, Claude.” Sid snapped, furious. “I though the switches were going to end up killing us or something.”

Claude’s face softened a bit, “No Sid. Not that I know of.”

Sid clenched then unclenched his fist, grinding his teeth. He walked over to the closet and threw on his jacket and his shoes.

Claude ran a hand through his hair, watching him. “Where are you going, Sid?”

“Out. To the gym. Just leave me alone.”

Claude bit his lip and reached out for Sid’s hand. Sid wheeled on him. “Stop. Don’t you fucking move and don’t fucking touch me. Just...” Sid sucked in a shuttering breath. “Just leave me alone right now.”

Claude’s face became expressionless. He nodded.

Sid left the room, every bit of him wanting to slam the door but reminded himself not to make any more of a scene. If people in other rooms hadn’t already heard them arguing, slamming a door would certainly be a sign that something was wrong.

He hit the gym, running on the machines until his legs were sore and his lungs were begging him to stop. A few teammates stopped in, working out a bit before leaving. Sid outlasted them all. Getzlaf and Perry were two of the last to use the facilities, Getzlaf just having to get a word in about Claude’s absence before heading back upstairs. Sid had been almost ready to leave before that. He ended up staying another half hour to work off the renewed anger he’d felt.

When he finally had to call it quits, he showered and took his time before making his way back upstairs. When he finally couldn’t stall anymore, he gently pushed open the bedroom door to a dark room. Inside, he felt his way to his bed, stripping and climbing in. It was empty. Sid listened for the sound of breathing and found it coming from across the room.

They laid there in silence. Sid couldn’t be sure if Claude was awake or asleep, his breathing soft. If Claude had been lying, did that mean that he wasn’t sleeping better at all? It’s true that Sid had been stuck, caught in a circle of worrying about not sleeping and his actual not sleeping feeding into each other. Having Claude share a bed with him had helped, the belief that contact made them more whole then when they were apart, bringing sleep back to each other. Now he was never going to be able to get to sleep.

“I’m not sorry.” Claude said quietly from the other side of the room.

Sid closed his eyes and rolled over, his back to the other bed. His mind was reeling. Maybe neither of them would be sleeping that night.

_____________________________________________

Claude was sitting on the other side of the table talking quickly in French to some of the other Francophones on the team while Sid found himself sandwiched between a cheerful discussion between Toews and Crawford.

One of them must have noticed his sulking, because Corey was nudging Johnny and eyeing Sid meaningfully. Sid pushed his plate away in disgust and sighed, standing up to refill his coffee before either of them could ask him any questions.

To his annoyance, Johnny stood up too and followed him. Sid tried ignoring him, but Toews just hung around quietly, also topping off his coffee. Sid tried to make a break for it but Johnny just took him gently by his elbow and led him back to the table where Corey was still sitting.

“We’ve heard.” Corey said when they were sitting again.

“About what?” Sid asked bluntly, too tired to try to screen his words.

Toews smiled, “Just things going around. People talking about you and Claude. No one gives a shit Sid, they know it’s not true.”

“That’s because it’s _not_ true.” Sid insisted, frowning.

“So you’re not hanging out together?” Corey asked.

Sid gave him a flat look. “We went to the CN tower, but that’s it.”

Johnny was giving him a hard look. “Neither of you seem to be sleeping.”

Sid yawned, “Doesn’t matter to him, he’s not playing.”

He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. He glanced over at Claude to see if he was looking, but Claude was carefully fixed on his conversation with Vlassic. There were dark circles under his eyes. Sid probably had the same ones. He sighed and turned back to Johnny, who was looking him over with a serious expression.

“That was cruel. I didn’t mean it.” Sid said with a sighed. “I’m just tired.”

Corey leaned forwards, resting his arms on the table. “None of our business but… people are always watching you, Sid.”

“I know that,” Sid snapped. He closed his eyes for a moment and then banged his hand on the table with more force than he’d intended. “Fuck.” He mumbled. He looked up at Corey, who was waiting patiently. “Fuck, Corey I’m sorry.”

Johnny reached over and grabbed Sid’s shoulder tightly. “You need to go sleep.” Before Sid could protest, Johnny cut him off, “You can use my bed if you need, but you need to be in better shape than this. We had our practice this morning. The next game is tomorrow. I’ll clear out my room, you just need to take an hour or two and sleep.”

Sid hesitated, then nodded. “I wanted to prove that it could work.”

“Rooming with Claude?” Johnny asked.

Sid hesitated, then nodded.

Corey smiled. “Teammates fight. It happens. You’re allowed to separate yourself from them. We know you haven’t shared a room in years, but it’s okay. It’s normal.”

Sid frowned, “Is that what you’d heard about me and Claude?”

Johnny frowned, “Yeah, what did you think I was talking about.”

Sid glanced at Corey, “What was it you’d heard?”

Corey exchanged a glance at Johnny, then turned back to Sid. “People are saying that you’re in a fight with Claude and that’s why he’s not playing. Some of the guys think that Babcock scratched him because you two couldn’t be on the ice together.”

Sid was at a loss for words. Johnny and Corey seemed to be waiting for an answer, so he smiled. “Hah, okay. That’s what I thought.”

Corey nodded, “But like you said—it’s bullshit.”

Sid nodded. He stood up too quickly and teetered, startling his teammates. From across the table Claude turned to look at what was happening. Sid looked away quickly and turned to Johnny. “Yeah, I can use that nap now.”

Johnny nodded and stood, guiding Sid out of the dinning hall.

In Johnny’s room, in a bed that smelled wrong and felt wrong, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep. But when Johnny turned off the lights and left him alone, at least Sid could pretend that everything was okay.

_____________________________________________

Sid didn’t see the hit or feel the hit. One second he was on the ice, following the puck along the boards, and the next he had blacked out. When he came too, he was in the dressing room with a number of other guys. Everyone there was gearing up to go out and except the Cup should Team Canada come away with the win tonight.

Sid caught a reflection of himself in the mirror, Claude’s face staring back at him. A TV was on in the room, broadcasting the game. There was a hush in the room as Sid was seen on TV, pushing himself carefully onto his feet and skating towards the bench while play went on around him.

A couple of the boys in the room winced as a replay showed the hit from another angle. Sid winced. He wondered who had reached out to who and if Claude was okay in his body.

The usual nausea he’d been feeling when he switched was mild, hardly affecting him now. He kept his eyes glued to the TV hoping it was the same for Claude.

The last time Claude had switched bodies with him during a game, Sid had been about to accept the Stanley Cup. Now, here he was again, pushed into Claude’s body during an important time in Sid’s career. It was different this time. They’d also switched during a very dangerous time for both of them, not knowing what side effects the hit would offer.

A panning shot of the rink showed Sid’s body—Claude—talking to a trainer, concern written over both of their faces. On the game clock time was shown counting down. Team Europe’s goalie was pulled and it was six on five. Claude looked like he wanted to get back on the ice. Babcock didn’t let him.

Good, Sid thought. His stomach twisted in concern for both Claude and his body. The game clock wound down and as it hit zero, all the players threw their hands in the air, celebrating the Team Canada win.

A representative from the tournament came into the dressing room and informed them to following him. Sid slipped on the last of Claude’s equipment and practically ran down the corridor towards the ice, desperate to check on Claude.

On the ice, the handshake line was finishing. They waited politely for Team Europe to get their medals and file off the ice. Sid couldn’t help fidgeting, his eyes glued to Claude in his body.

Sid swallowed when he caught Claude’s eye. Claude looked in rough shape, swaying slightly in his body. This isn’t right, Sid thought. _I should be in there right now_. He tried reaching out to Claude the way Claude had described he’d done the night of the Stanley Cup win, but couldn’t do it. Sid felt nothing but uselessness at being unable to help Claude.

Finally, they were allowed on the ice to go celebrate with their team. Sid instantly found and collapsed against Claude, pulling him in tight and fisting that number 87 jersey in his hands. He didn’t care who was watching, didn’t care what people thought, just went for it. Sid reached up and cupped the back of Claude’s neck, pulling him closer. A dizzy spell took over and as it did, Sid vision blurred as a spiking pain filled his head.

When he came too, Claude was looking at him with concern. The celebration was going on in full force around him and thankfully no one seemed to be paying them any mind.

Sid looked up at Claude, who seemed to be reflecting Sid’s panic. “Are you okay?” Claude asked carefully.

Sid nodded, then cried out. Claude gripped Sid’s forearm tightly, and Sid was thankful for the support. “Fuck, what happened?” he bit out.

Claude looked a little scared. “I panicked.” He blurted.

“What does that mean?” Sid asked, his eyes wide.

Claude looked away, at the people celebrating around them. “I was getting changed when I saw the hit coming, but you didn’t.”

Realization dawned on Sid. “You forced a switched.”

Claude looked pale. “It looked like it was going to be bad, Sid.”

“Feels bad.” Sid mumbled.

“Hurt like fuck.” Claude murmured.

They turned to skate towards their teammates, skating slowly. Trainers were watching them carefully from the sidelines. “This is going to require a concussion protocol, isn’t it?”

Claude nodded, “I was advised that it would only happen after we accept the cup and finish celebrating.”

Sid’s stomach knotted and he felt like he was going to be sick. He was dizzy and everything hurt. “Pretty sure it’s a concussion.”

Claude looked mad. “I know it is. They don’t want everyone else to know though.”

Sid nodded and straightened himself as best as he could. “Makes the tournament look bad.”

Claude looked furious. Throughout the ceremonies, Claude stuck as close to Sid as possible without making it look weird. Sid appreciated it. He knew that if anything happened, Claude would step in to help. A pit of anger kept his mind more focused, anger that the NHL would try to cover this up to make itself look good.

The proceedings went about as they usually would. Sid lifted the cup and the crowd cheered him on. It was passed off. More cheering.

The night passed in a blur. He was pushed down into a photo, the cup at his feet. Someone hauled him up. He felt disoriented and nauseous. Everything was too loud and too many people were pulling him into hugs and cheering in his ear.

Finally, there were hands on him that he could trust, hands that made the world snap into focus better. Claude was guiding him off the ice towards the trainer’s room.

He spent seven minutes by himself in the dark room, but after that he was never alone. Claude was constantly by his side as tests were conducted and doctors were called in.

“I feel like shit.” Sid mumbled to Claude during one of their few sparing moments unchaperoned.

Claude smiled, “You look like shit, Cap.”

Sid smiled.

Someone was talking about taking him to a hospital. Panic shot through Sid at being separated form Claude and he groaned, pushing himself up onto his elbows. He shook his head but regretted it instantly, making the room spin. “No hospital. I’ve done this before. Claude’s done this before. I don’t need a hospital.”

The doctors turned towards them, looking absolutely stunned. “What?” One of them said finally.

Sid pushed himself up more slowly this time, sitting. Better. “I’m not going to the hospital,” he said. “I’ve got Claude to look after me. I’m going back to my hotel.”

Even Claude looked shocked. “Um, Sid—“

“No,” snapped Sid. He lowered his voice so only Claude could hear him. “I can’t sleep without you. I don’t give a shit if it’s the switching or not. I’m not spending the night alone.”

Claude looked mildly amused. “I can go to the hospital with you, you know.”

“Oh.” Sid blinked. His feet were swinging slowly over the side of the bed, making him feel very young while the room tilted violently around him. “Yeah, that works too.”

Claude laughed.

They left together in a discrete black car, with a doctor in the front seat. He and the driver took turns casting curious looks into the back seat at Sid and Claude, who were slumped against each other.

“I’m sorry I was so shitty.” Sid began, but Claude cut him off with a laugh.

“I was shitty first.”

Sid hummed, “You were, but then I was really shitty.”

“Go on,” Claude murmured.

Sid swatted at him, but it was half hearted. “Dammit, this is stupid.”

Claude laughed for real this time, “This wasn’t my fault. I helped.”

Sid hummed. Then he whined. “I hate concussions.”

“We all do.”

Sid pouted, “Make sure they let you sleep with me.”

Claude didn’t look so sure. ”I think that’s going too far. People will notice if—“

“Forget them. I need to sleep.”

“I’ve created a monster,” Claude whispered with a laugh.

Sid said nothing, just slumped against Claude a little more. “You can tell them it’s the concussion.”

“Great, people will think I’m taking advantage of brain-dead Sid with just another concussion.”

Sid swatted at him again. Then he sighed and covered his eyes as the lights from the brightly lit hospital made him wince, searing into his mind. “Turn them off.” he whined.

Claude laughed and leaned forwards to talk to the driver, who began digging around. A pair of sunglasses appeared and Sid hastily shoved them on, relief flooding him instantly.

“It’ll be okay,” Claude murmured as they pulled up to the emergency room doors.

Sid grunted noncommittally.

Together they made their way into the hospital, thinking of their teammates who were back at the arena, celebrating the win of another tournament and another cup.

_____________________________________________

 “You see, Sid,” Claude murmured, running his hands slowly down Sid’s sides, “I’ve been paying close attention to your body.”

“Is that so?” Sid asked, sounding much more breathless than he’d intended.

“Fuck yeah,” Claude said, ducking down to kiss one of Sid’s hipbones, his eyes flicking up to meet Sid’s. The look Claude gave him sent heat spiking through his body. “I think I can do some really nice things to you.”

Sid’s breath hitched.

Claude pulled himself up to nip at one of Sid’s ears. “The doctors cleared you, right?” Claude whispered.

Sid groaned and pushed his face away, hating how Claude’s breath tickled him there. It had been weeks since the World Cup of Hockey and he’d even played his first game back already. He was more than cleared for hockey, so he couldn’t imagine what Claude was talking about.

“Yes,” he said with an impatient huff. “Now come on. You promised me stuff. You said you’d please me.”

Claude laughed, and let his weight settle more heavily on Sid in his ridiculously sterile room. Claude, having a few days off, agreed to fly in to see him. The thought still made Sid squirm happily.

Claude leaned back down to nibble at his ear again, making Sid shiver. “I’m getting there.” One of his hands ran down to grab Sid’s knee, hitching it up to hook around his back. Sid used the leverage to pull Claude closer to him, getting more friction. They both shivered at the contact.

Claude must have seen the meaningful look Sid had given him because he laughed. “Alright, I’ll move faster.”

“What if we change?” Sid asked. The second it was out, he wanted to call it back. He held his breath, looking at Claude.

Claude just shrugged, “We do what we always do.” Claude ducked down to kiss Sid teasingly, just enough to get him hot before pulling back. Sid wanted to hit him. Claude smiled his usual shit-eating grin and laughed. “We’ll manage Sid, we always do. Plus, it might be kind of a good thing.”

“How so?” Sid grumbled.

Claude gave him a wicked smile. “I’d been trying some things out while you were… away. And I think I’ve found a couple that might interest you.”

Sid shuttered, his body clearly interested. “You didn’t.”

Claude laughed, leaning down to bite his neck gently. “Oh yeah, I definitely did.”

Sid moaned as Claude’s hands worked his buckle open. Maybe this switching thing wouldn’t be so bad after all…

[end]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU.
> 
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> 
> Come chat with me on [tumblr](https://whisperedwordsofhockey.tumblr.com) if you're feeling bored!


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